


Closer

by theDeadTree



Series: theDeadTree Writes Miraculous Angst [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Identity Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-02 22:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12735243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theDeadTree/pseuds/theDeadTree
Summary: After a bombshell discovery, Marinette finds herself re-evaluating everything she thought she knew. Tensions begin to flare with accusations and misunderstandings, growing worse until they threaten to rip Paris’ favourite dynamic duo apart.Once again, good communication fails to save the day.





	1. Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> Been in this fandom a little while now, but this is my first attempt at writing something for it. This is super rushed and alarmingly angsty for such a wholesome show and I won’t even apologise because I’m trash and I had so much fun doing it.
> 
> Also, Chat Noir is good at puns. I am not. Sorry in advance.
> 
>  **[Addendum]** Due to when this was actually written and the episodes that were out at the time, this officially takes place some time shortly after the events of the Collector, and veers wildly off-canon from there. Take that how you will.

“So,” Chat Noir began, grinning like an idiot as he always did before coming out with one of his many truly terrible lines. “We haven’t really talked in a while. How’s the _prettiest_ hero in Paris doing?”

Marinette Dupain-Cheng rolled her eyes from behind her mask and shrugged gently in response, counting herself lucky. He could’ve come out with something much, _much_ worse. It was by all means a far tamer line than almost everything else that had come out his mouth, especially when he had _that_ look on his face.

And it also gave her a golden opportunity to give him a taste of his own medicine. She’d learned some time ago that the easiest way to throw him off-balance was to redirect his own comments right back at him. And the way he’d flush with embarrassment was too funny for her ignore.

And _no,_ it _wasn’t_ flirting back. At this point, it was just an expected part of their usual banter.

“I don’t know, Chat,” she sighed after a pause. “How _are_ you?”

There was a silence as Chat Noir failed to reply, taking time to process her question. Slowly, she glanced over at him, just in time to see his cheeks quickly redden.

She smiled. Right on cue.

“I- I’m fine,” he stammered out after what felt like an eternity, his voice cracking slightly as he turned away from her in a desperate attempt to hide just how much he was blushing.

She laughed, getting to her feet and stretching. “Well, if that’s cleared up, it’s late and I see no sign of an akuma. Time to head back, I think.”

In all honesty, she had no _idea_ what time it was – but _late_ was usually a good assumption when it came to their nightly patrols. Between waiting for her parents to go to bed, sneaking out, meeting up with Chat Noir, and doing a few laps around the city with him, it was bound to take a few hours. And that was if it turned out to be a quiet night. The most they had to deal with on a patrol night was generally opportunistic but entirely mundane run-of-the-mill criminals taking their chances. She supposed they had to count themselves lucky that Hawk Moth – and by extension, his akuma victims – generally preferred to make a spectacle.

Why that was, she didn’t know. She could only assume it was some tactic on his part. And she shuddered to think what that would ultimately end up meaning for them.

She shook her head. It didn’t matter right now. She needed to get home, get to bed, and get as much sleep as possible so she could at least _pretend_ to function like a normal human being tomorrow.

The seconds dragged by in silence, becoming only more pronounced as she realised she hadn’t been graced with a reply.

“Chat?” she called, turning back around to see if he was still with her.

Chat Noir was instead sprawled out on the roof, staring up at the night sky with a huge grin plastered across his face.

“Ladybug called me pretty,” he gushed, mostly to himself, his eyes glazed over and his mind clearly a thousand miles away. “I never want to forget this moment.”

She groaned loudly and rubbed her temples in an attempt to clear the impending headache she could feel coming on. He was never going to make it easy for her. She didn’t know why she was surprised by this point – there was an undeniable formula to their witty repartee. He’d flirt, she’d cheerfully dismiss his efforts, he’d take it in his stride and would immediately start up with the flirting again thirty seconds later. And if she was _really_ lucky, he’d cram as many puns into the exchange as humanly possible.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she told him a little sharply, sensing that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d bring it up.

“Too late,” came the immediate reply.

She rolled her eyes dramatically and had to fight back another loud, tired groan. She shouldn’t have said anything. As funny as it was to see him disarmed and truly speechless for a few seconds, all she’d really done was give him more ammunition. Which was quite possibly the absolute last thing he needed.

“You’re a pain, you know that?”

His grin did not fade. “But a _pretty_ pain.”

“I am never going to compliment you again.”

“Ah, but that would be such a waste.”

“Why do I like you?”

He bolted upright at that, twisting around to face her, eyes wide and a little bit hopeful. “You _like_ me, huh?”

Her reply was cold and immediate. “Not like that.”

Maybe that was a little harsh. But the _last_ thing he needed was someone to inflate his already overwhelmingly huge ego. Maybe someone out there would be happy to indulge him, but it wasn’t going to be her. Not any time soon. One day, he’d get the point.

She hoped, anyway.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure that position’s taken,” she muttered under her breath.

The instant the words were out of her mouth, Chat Noir bolted upright, watching her with wide eyes. She groaned loudly and had to fight the almost overwhelming urge to smack her palm to her forehead. Of course he heard her. Why wouldn’t he? That was just her luck, wasn’t it?

“Oh yeah?” he asked, eyebrows waggling with interest. _“Do_ tell.”

She bit her lip in fierce regret as his ears perked up and he sidled in even closer to her, grinning with an annoying, childish glee.

_Oh no._

“My lady has a _cruuu-uush,”_ he sang at her, beaming the whole while. “That’s _adorable.”_

She moved away from him, trying to hide the brilliant pink that coloured her cheeks. “We are _not_ having this conversation.”

“But who is such a fine man to have stolen the heart of the mighty and brilliant Ladybug? I must know.”

 _“No,_ you do _not,”_ she snarled at him.

“Why not? Oh! Is it _me?”_

She jerked back, mortified by the very thought. “No! It’s _not_ you! It’s not _anyone!"_

 _“C’mon…_ stop kidding yourself. I’m just too irresistible, right?”

“It’s _not you, Chat!”_

“But considering how defensive you’re getting, it is _someone.”_

“You. Are. _Infuriating.”_

He grinned. “That’s me. I’m a charmer. Who is it?”

“No one.”

“Come on…”

_“No.”_

“Pretty please? I want to know who I’m competing with here.”

“No one,” she growled fiercely. “You’re not competing with anyone. There is no competition. And even if there _was,_ you’d lose.”

He gave a theatrical gasp at her words, holding his hand over his heart in mock-offence. “My lady, you _wound_ me. Tell me. Please?”

“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase, _curiosity killed the cat?”_

“Ah, but satisfaction brought it back.”

“You’re impossible.”

He grinned. “And _so_ curious.”

She flushed a bright scarlet and turned away, refusing to face him. Some things she could deal with. But Chat Noir knowing she had a crush? Chat Noir knowing she had a crush on someone completely unattainable? _Chat Noir_ finding out that she liked the same boy half the female population of Paris also liked? He couldn’t know. He couldn’t find out. She’d never hear the end of it.

“Seriously, it’s no one,” she insisted sullenly.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Ah. No one. I see. You are not a good liar, my lady.”

She threw her hands up into the air. “It doesn’t _matter!_ He’s handsome and perfect and _nice_ and everybody loves him and he’s barely even aware that I exist.”

A state of affairs that was probably more her own fault than anything else, if she was being honest. But every time Adrien so much as glanced in her general direction, she inevitably ended up making a complete fool of herself. The only way she could see that wouldn’t end in her melting into a puddle of embarrassment was to avoid talking to him almost completely.

Why was she talking about this, anyway? Why was she talking about this to _Chat,_ of _all_ people?

Maybe it was because she felt like she needed to discuss it someone else, someone completely impartial, an unknown third party. Or maybe it was because she knew that there was a small part of her, deep down – _very_ deep down – that seemed to genuinely like and respect the boy in the black leather get-up who watched her with a keen interest.

Or maybe she was hoping that if she gave him some vague answer, he’d shut up and stop prodding her.

He smiled crookedly at her words. “Now _that_ I find incredibly difficult to believe.”

“It’s true!” she insisted, indignant. “He’s gorgeous and rich and smart and he’s famous on top of that, not to mention he’s so impossibly kind and perfect and everyone _adores_ him! He’s probably got _hordes_ of girls after him. I mean, how am I supposed to compete with that?”

Chat Noir blinked several times in surprise. “I’m sorry, how is the great and powerful Ladybug, saviour of Paris and beloved hero of the people, supposed to compete for the affections of a boy? Did you forget who you _are?”_

“It’s not the same,” she mumbled as she sat down, pulling her knees to her chest, thoroughly dejected. “Out of the costume, I’m just me.”

Slowly, Chat joined her.

“Out of the costume,” he began quietly, suddenly a far cry from the overly enthusiastic tone he had thirty seconds ago, “you’re still the same person.”

“You don’t know that,” she argued. “You have no idea who I am. I could be the dullest person you’ve ever met.”

“I disagree. And I think if anyone is going to know what it’s like to hide behind a mask, it’s me,” he reasoned, before letting out a quiet sigh and rolling his shoulders back. “It doesn’t change who you are. No matter how much you might want it to.”

There was something in the way he said that, some faint underlying bitterness in his voice. For a moment, Marinette watched him curiously, suddenly aching to know the reason behind his words. There had to be something there, surely. He was so agonisingly perky about almost everything else.

“Speaking from experience there, chaton?” she asked carefully, never taking her eyes off him.

He didn’t meet her gaze. “You’d be surprised.”

They fell into silence then, as her mouth ran dry while she failed to think of a response and possibly for the first time since she’d known him, he seemed to have nothing else to say.

Part of her didn’t want to believe him. Wanted to immediately dismiss him as Chat being Chat. But she struggled to think of a time he’d ever gotten serious and soft-spoken like this. For a moment, he seemed to be opening up to her in a way he hadn’t before. For a moment, just one moment, he seemed less like a caricature of himself – whatever that meant, she just couldn’t think of a better way to describe it – and more like an actual person.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, again, making a point of staring off in the opposite direction. “I probably seem so shallow and silly for liking some boy whose face is plastered all over Paris, anyway.”

“Plastered all over…” he began to repeat before quickly cutting himself off, the colour draining from his face. “I- …oh. Oh, _wow.”_

“What? Chat?” she called frantically, quickly glancing over the surrounding cityscape, expecting to see an akuma wreaking havoc. When she found nothing, she turned back to the boy sitting next to her, eyebrows raised curiously.

For what felt like an eternity, Chat Noir didn’t respond to her questioning gaze.

So, she nudged him. “Chat? What’s going on? What happened?”

“I just realised…”

“Realised what?”

Finally, his eyes flicked back to hers. “You like Adrien Agreste.”

She jerked back in surprise at his observation. “W-what? _No!”_

_How did he-?_

It wasn’t possible.

How did he _know?_ How could he _possibly_ know?

She glanced back at him, unable to mask the shock and horror that was plastered across her face, only to meet a pair of equally shocked eyes. For an entirely too long, utterly agonising moment, neither of them said anything, simply watched each other wordlessly, not quite knowing how to react. For a moment, Chat stared back at her, and he was completely unrecognisable.

And then, he burst into a fit of laughter.

Marinette flushed, yet again, utterly mortified. “It’s _not funny, Chat!”_

“Oh my god,” he managed between wheezing gasps for air. “Oh, my _god._ You like _Adrien Agreste.”_

“I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

“I can’t _believe_ this. That’s too damn perfect. I’m such an _idiot.”_

She wasn’t going to argue with him there.

“If you breathe a word of this to _anyone…”_ she hissed, trying to be as threatening as possible, not that it was working very well, considering he was still cackling hysterically at her. “So help me Chat Noir, akumas will be the _least_ of your problems.”

Her threats seemed to have no effect whatsoever on him, as he continued laughing harder than she’d ever heard before. He clutched his sides and doubled over, visibly shaking from how amazingly comical he found it all. Marinette turned away, not wanting him to know just how furiously she was blushing over this. She had never felt so utterly mortified in her life.

“Why not?” he asked with mock politeness when he finally managed to breathe properly again, though he seemed constantly on the verge of bursting into a fit of giggles. “I think he’d be _flattered.”_

“I’m _serious,_ Chat. Not a word. To _anyone.”_

Suddenly, all she wanted to do was crawl into a hole and die. Anything that meant she didn’t have to be here, having this conversation.

He arched an eyebrow, but did place a hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear never to reveal that Ladybug has the world’s biggest crush on some pretty boy model. Cat’s honour.”

“You see, _this?”_ she started, gesturing wildly between them. “This, right here? _This_ is why I don’t tell you things about my personal life.”

“And here I thought you were taking the _‘we have to keep secrets to protect ourselves and the people we care about’_ angle.”

“There’s that too.”

He nodded, and managed to keep a straight face for all of two seconds before snorting with laughter again. “Oh man. You like Adrien Agreste.”

Ugh. This was exactly the kind of reaction she’d been fearing all this time. What was worse was the fact that she _knew_ he was never going to let it go. He was laughing at her today, and he would be laughing at her tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day for as long as she dared to show her face.

“Yes, we’ve established that, thank you, you can drop it now,” she grumbled, once again flushing a bright scarlet and pulling her knees to her chest and wishing with every fibre in her being that she was _anywhere_ else right now, having _any_ other conversation with literally _anyone else._

There were no words for how much she didn’t want to be here. A longing that only grew more pronounced as Chat’s laughter slowly subsided, fading into his normal cheshire grin.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t believe it. You never struck me as the type.”

Marinette blinked several times in surprise and confusion. “Excuse me? The _type?”_

“Oh, you know,” he said offhandedly. “The type to go for a model. Looks over substance, and that.”

She folded her arms at that, a little offended.

Well, _quite_ offended, if she was being honest with herself.

“I don’t like him for the way he _looks,”_ she growled.

“Oh yeah? Care to enlighten me, then?”

“He’s _kind,”_ she told him through gritted teeth, as memories of one rainy, miserable afternoon flooded to the forefront of her mind, completely unbidden. “He’s smart and selfless and friendly and he’s _kind._ He isn’t like everyone else.”

 _And he told me he’d never had friends before,_ she thought to herself, still going over the events of those precious five minutes they’d shared in the rain. _He apologised to me and shared something so personal when I’d only been rude to him._

Because she thought he’d just been another _Chloé_ waiting to happen. And when he wasn’t, when he turned out to be almost the _exact opposite_ of that, she hadn’t known how to take it.

She still had his umbrella, she realised. She’d never managed to return it. There just never seemed to be a good time to do it. It was so long ago now that if she tried to give it back to him at this point, it would just be weird, and awkward, and she didn’t even want to think about the incoherent word soup that was sure to spill uncontrollably out of her mouth the second she tried to explain herself, and why she’d held onto it for so long.

Adrien had never asked for it back, regardless. Maybe he’d meant for her to keep it.

Her heart began to make small palpitations the instant that thought crossed her mind.

Did the memory of that day mean half as much to him as it did to her?

“Ever think you’re giving him way too much credit?”

At the sound of Chat Noir’s somewhat cynical question, she found herself quickly and unceremoniously dragged back to the reality of her situation – sitting on a roof with a boy who was decidedly _not_ Adrien Agreste, who now knew that she _liked_ Adrien Agreste, and would surely never let her hear the end of it for the rest of her life.

She’d been so much happier lost in thought.

“You don’t know him, Chat,” she snapped back at him, folding her arms and huffing angrily.

“Do _you?”_

The question took her off guard. “I- …of course I do!”

Even ignoring all her obsessing over him, even ignoring the fact that she knew his schedule by heart – she saw him every day in school, didn’t she? But then, how was _he_ supposed to know that? Maybe he could be forgiven for asking what was probably a totally reasonable question on his behalf.

She didn’t want to think about it.

“Why am I even talking about this with you?” she asked mostly herself, furiously massaging her temples as she tried desperately to forget the entire conversation ever happened. “I mean, I- …it doesn’t matter. I should head out. Good patrol.”

He gave her a wide, toothy grin in response. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

She quickly elected to ignore that. The absolute last thing she needed was to add fuel to this fire. It was already getting dangerous. Much to her surprise, Chat didn’t seem to have anything more to say. He simply nodded thoughtfully, before clambering to his feet and casually offering her his hand, which she gingerly took.

“Well in that case,” he told her cheerfully as he casually pulled her to her feet, “I’m sorry I pried.”

She gave him a disgusted look. “No, you’re not.”

He grinned. “No. I’m not. Same time tomorrow night?”

“Sure,” she mumbled, glancing off to the side as she pulled out her yo-yo and prepared to make the fastest escape possible. “If I haven’t died of embarrassment by then.”


	2. Friday

Much to her intense disappointment, Marinette woke up without incident the following morning. She shrank back under the covers, squeezing her eyes shut tight and wishing what happened last night was nothing more than a dream. Maybe, if she stayed here long enough, spent enough time trying to convince herself that was the case, she’d start to believe it.

“Marinette!” the sound of her mother’s voice called anxiously from downstairs. “Are you up yet? You’re going to be late!”

With a small groan, Marinette rolled herself out of bed, barely reacting as she fell roughly to the floor, taking most of her bedspread with her. For what felt like and possibly could’ve been a small eternity, she simply lay there, unmoving, staring absently at the ceiling, trying not to acknowledge the heavy aching in her head that told her quite plainly that she hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep last night.

That was hardly surprising. By the time she’d finally stumbled back into her room and thrown herself in bed, all she could do was lay there wide awake and stress about how on earth she was ever going to convince Chat to take her seriously ever again.

“Some superhero I am,” she grumbled to no one in particular. “Can’t even stop my own partner from laughing at me.”

“Oh Marinette, it’s not _that_ bad,” Tikki told her cheerfully, hovering a foot or so above her head.

“Tikki, he was _laughing._ He was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.”

“Chat Noir laughs at a lot of things,” her kwami tried to reason. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it maliciously.”

Marinette arched an extremely sceptical eyebrow at her, before ultimately pushing herself up to her feet and stumbling around her room, fumbling almost blindly with her clothes, too tired to focus on anything specific. Other than the fact that the next time she saw Chat Noir, she was either going to melt into a pathetic and entirely useless puddle of embarrassment, or kick his ass.

It would’ve been bad enough on its own if he’d just sat there and taken it silently, accepting it as just a fact of being, like their powers or their crusade against Hawk Moth. But instead he’d had to make it a _million_ times worse by reacting like she’d just told the funniest joke that ever has or ever will exist. She’d never heard him laugh that hard. She’d never heard _anyone_ laugh that hard. And just thinking about what happened automatically caused blood to rise to her cheeks.

She groaned and ran a hand through her hair as she doubled checked that Tikki was safely hidden away in her bag before she made her way downstairs and into the bakery that was already bustling with activity.

Yes, she decided, smiling ruefully to herself as she skirted around her father and dashed through the front door. She was absolutely going to kill him. There was no power on earth that could stop her.

It shouldn’t matter.

It _didn’t_ matter.

So what if Chat Noir knew who she had a crush on? It wasn’t as if he knew Adrien and planned on telling him. It was information that was completely useless to him. The worst he could do was hold it over her as a joke and tease her about it occasionally. That wasn’t much different from their normal banter, anyway.

That’s what she had to keep telling herself, at least.

“Argh, I _hate him,”_ she snarled, dancing on the spot on the curb, waiting for the lights to change so she could cross over to the school. “I hate him _so much.”_

It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t _let_ it matter.

So she liked a model! What did that matter? _Lots_ of girls liked him! She couldn’t _possibly_ be the only one who felt this way. It was totally normal to have a crush on him. _Everyone_ had a crush on him. He was cool and sweet and nice and everybody liked him and there _wasn’t anything wrong with that._ It wasn’t embarrassing. She refused to be embarrassed by this.

Her face screwed up as she immediately saw the image of Chat bursting into a fit of hysterical laughter at her flash through her mind.

Damn him. Damn him to hell. She was _so_ embarrassed by this.

By the time she’d managed to cross the road, sprint through the school, find her classroom, dump her bag on her desk and sink into her seat, she was already five minutes late and Mlle Bustier was giving her a somewhat disapproving look before resuming the class. Marinette slouched as low as she possibly manage, doing everything within her power not to acknowledge the fact that Adrien had given her a passing glance and a small encouraging smile, even though every part of her was hyper aware of him.

She didn’t want to be. She’d never look at him again if it meant last night with Chat never happened.

She _hated_ him. She hated Chat and his _stupid laugh_ so much she almost wished she could stop having feelings for Adrien just out of principle.

And _ugh,_ she had patrol with him again tonight. At that moment, Marinette couldn’t help but feel like she would actually rather die than see him again any time soon.

“Keep glaring at your desk like that and you’re going to set it on fire,” Alya whispered, gently nudging her. “What’s wrong, girl?”

Marinette blinked several times and glanced up at her best friend, forcing a small, weak smile. “Oh… nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

_I just may or may not be plotting to commit murder tonight._

It could be worse. He could have found out who she was. He could’ve been in her room and discovered her shrine – _not_ a shrine, she liked Gabriel Agreste’s brand, it wasn’t _her_ fault his son happened to model half the designs – or something similar. It could still be worse. An akuma could’ve attacked. Anything could’ve happened to make it worse. But at least an akuma attack would’ve distracted them both for long enough that the conversation would’ve been dropped.

Would that still work? Maybe she could bribe Hawk Moth into timing his attacks in such a way that she’d never have to endure that conversation again.

 _You’re being stupid,_ the more rational part of her brain chided her. _So he laughed when he found out you have a crush. It’s no big deal. It’s Chat. He laughs at everything._

Maybe that was true, but she much preferred it when he was laughing at his own lame jokes.

So much of the day passed like that – Marinette too focused on silently seething about how much she hated and didn’t want to see Chat Noir to pay any real attention to her classes. Occasionally, Alya would notice her distinct lack of paying attention, and give a silent reminder that maybe it was a good idea to do work and take notes. Some distant, dark, and forgotten corner of Marinette brain recognised that she didn’t deserve a friend who was so good to her, but the thought was quickly glossed over upon being reminded of how the hours were slipping away and she’d find herself facing patrol sooner and sooner.

She’d never been this anxious about a patrol before.

Was anxious even the right word? Did that adequately describe the gnawing sense of dread that filled her? She couldn’t tell. Suddenly, she didn’t want to.

Desperate think of something, _anything_ else, even just for a little while, she instead opted to focus on something entirely more pleasant – Adrien Agreste himself.

He was perfect, as per usual. He sat with a rigidly straight back, staring adamantly ahead of him, gripping his pencil so tightly it looked as though it was seconds away from snapping, while his spare hand was balled up into a tight fist. Every so-often, he’d shifted just slightly, clearly uncomfortable and determined to ignore it.

She’d never seen him so stressed. How could he still look so good even when he was that tense? How could _anyone_ pull off stressed that well? It couldn’t be natural. He was an angel sent from heaven who had deigned to bless the earth with his presence. There wasn’t any other way to explain how he managed to stay so amazing all the time.

Marinette was so lost in fawning over how good he looked that it took her some time before she realised that Adrien looked _stressed,_ and this _wasn’t_ a good thing.

She blinked several times as the thought crossed her mind. That couldn’t be. Adrien _never_ looked stressed. He always seemed relaxed, laid back, casual, and quietly confident. But as she watched him run a hand anxiously through his hair for the sixteenth time in less than a minute, that was the only conclusion she could draw.

And apparently, she wasn’t the only one who noticed, as the school day was only minutes from ending when Nino gently tapped Adrien’s arm.

“Dude, are you alright?” he asked in a low voice.

The second the question was out of Nino’s mouth, Adrien jumped in surprise, his hands quickly balling into fists and he looked around wildly, as if he expected someone to jump out and attack him.

“I- …uh, what?” he managed to choke out, before finally realising that he’d been asked a question. “Y-yeah, Nino, I- …I’m fine.”

None of that sounded at all convincing, Marinette noted, although what she planned to do with this information was still unknown.

“Adrien _does_ seem kind of on-edge today, doesn’t he?” Alya mused, though she seemed more involved with mindlessly doodling on her page than the conversation, even as the bell rang out and class was dismissed.

“Yeah,” Marinette breathed as she watched the object of her affections swiftly stand up, gather his things and head for the door. “I wonder what’s wrong?”

Her mind was already racing, suggesting millions of terrible scenarios that could be the reason behind his shift in behaviour, before eventually leading to all kinds of extreme conclusions. Maybe something happened. Something bad. Maybe he was dying, or he was being forced to change schools or move away, or something else that would mean she’d never end up seeing him again. Automatically, her mind jumped to all the worst possible conclusions, with very little regard for facts or evidence. Adrien seemed stressed. Which meant he _was_ stressed. And he didn’t _get_ stressed, at least not this visibly, which meant it had to be something world-endingly bad.

Maybe his father was dying.

Maybe _he_ was dying.

And if _Adrien_ was dying, then _she_ may as well be dead already.

“Maybe you should ask him?”

She let out a frightened squeak and gripped the desk. “W-what?”

Almost immediately, Alya let out an exhausted sigh and dropped her pen, before giving Marinette a pointed look, which only made her shrink back even further.

“Girl, you heard me. Just go and ask him if something’s wrong.”

 _“Ask him?”_ Marinette repeated, dumbfounded by the suggestion. “You mean, just, walk on over and say, _‘hi Adrien, I noticed you seemed kind of tense while I was staring at you because I have the world’s biggest crush on you and can’t get enough of that ass…’_?”

“Maybe not exactly those words, but sure.”

“Alya, I don’t think you understand just how much I can’t do that.”

Alya immediately slapped her palm to her forehead and let out a quiet groan. “How do you expect to marry him if you won’t even _talk_ to him?”

Marinette pulled a face at her friend’s remark. “I talk to him!”

“Does incoherent stammering count as talking to him now?”

“You are _so_ not helping.”

Alya poked her tongue out in response. “You love me.”

There was no good response to that.

“I have to go,” Marinette mumbled after a brief pause, absently shoving everything into her bag without much thought. “I have pa- …I- I mean, there’s someone I have to meet.”

Right on cue, Alya’s eyebrows shot up with undeniable interest. _“Meeting_ someone, huh? How come I haven’t heard about this until now?”

 _Uh oh._ This could only spell trouble. Hastily, Marinette held up her hands defensively, trying to figure out the best way to explain herself that didn’t involve mentioning anything regarding Chat Noir or the almost-daily scheduled patrols of the city that she was only now regretting.

Truthfully, they wouldn’t have to meet for patrol for several hours – but Marinette preferred to get everything out of the way as quickly as possible so she had time to mentally prepare herself. For hours of running along rooftops, scouting out all the major areas akumas seemed to gravitate towards to when they attacked, trying to come up with tactical points she could use, among other things. And talking to Chat.

The instant the thought crossed her mind, Marinette felt the blood drain from her face.

_Chat._

Chat Noir, who found out about her hopeless crush, and had burst into hysterical laughter about it.

Chat, who would never let her live that down for the rest of their lives.

She’d _just_ managed to stop thinking about that.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she grumbled, folding her arms and wishing there was any real, legitimate reason for her to back out of going on patrol. “It’s not like that. He’s just a friend.”

That didn’t help. At all. There was a clear gleam of interest in Alya’s eyes now; one she only tended to get when something about Ladybug came up. Marinette knew it well; she’d seen it too many times, and generally before relatively close calls when it came to Alya and her tendency to go into a strange sort of intrepid reporter mode. Sooner or later, she was going to slip up, and rat herself out to her best friend.

And what an awkward conversation _that_ would be.

 _“He’s_ just a friend?” Alya repeated sceptically. _“He?_ As in, a _boy?_ Marinette, how _dare_ you wait this long to tell me about this.”

Marinette swallowed uncomfortably. “I swear, it’s not like that.”

“I see,” Alya responded, the amused smirk never leaving her lips.

“Really. It is a one hundred percent platonic relationship.”

“Absolutely,” she agreed. “You’re only meeting a secret boyfriend in private. Totally platonic.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Marinette had stop herself from shouting. “He’s a _boy_ who’s a _friend._ I have friends, Alya. I’m allowed to have friends.”

“Mm hm. Oh man, Adrien will be _heartbroken.”_

“Argh, you’re _impossible.”_

Alya simply leaned back in her seat, grinning. “It’s my journalistic instinct. Don’t think I’ll spare you just because we’re friends. I want to know about this mystery man of yours. _All_ about him.”

“Yes, okay, thank you Alya,” Marinette grumbled with far more sarcasm than she’d thought she’d been capable of, scooping the remainder of her things and dumping them into her bag, before turning heel and all but bolting for the door.

“I’m going to want details tomorrow,” Alya called after her. “All the _gory details,_ Mari.”

“Okay Alya,” she replied absently, fighting desperately not to give any thought to the guilt that was building up inside her.

It wasn’t like she _enjoyed_ lying to Alya. Or her parents. Or anyone. It was just necessary. But every now and then, she would be reminded of her complicated web of lies, and the fact that she was hiding major parts of her life from everyone she knew. More than once, she’d tried to work out who she would confess to, if circumstances ever allowed; who deserved the truth, and who took priority. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, Chat Noir was at the top of the list. Of all the people she was hiding things from, he was the one most likely to understand. Hell, he kind of already did.

What had he said the night before? _If anyone is going to know what it’s like to hide behind a mask, it’s me._

Sometimes, just _sometimes,_ he’d manage to say something that sounded almost profound. And then he would always come out with something else that would completely ruin the moment. He had it down to an art.

Marinette had never really given much thought to the idea that Chat had a civilian identity. She knew he had one, of course, but they’d both been careful to be deliberately vague when speaking of such things. Everything was on a need-to-know basis only, and it was just _weird_ to consider him having a life, dealing with family, with friends, going to school, and all that mundane nonsense that dominated every moment they weren’t in costume. And there was also the fact that she was terrified if she gave it anything more than the barest of considerations, she’d start comparing him to everyone she came across in an effort to unmask him.

It didn’t matter, regardless. She knew what she had to. She knew enough to trust him. Anything more would get in the way of everything they had to do.

Fight akumas. Stop Hawk Moth. Save Paris.

She’d be lying if she tried to say she wasn’t frustrated with how that was going. Every time, it was the same thing. There would be an akuma attack and they’d have to fix it, knowing that once they were finished, another was going to show up sooner or later. They were locked in a frustrating circle, doing the same thing over and over again, never getting any closer to their _real_ enemy, never knowing who he was, where he was, or what his plans were. Only that he would inevitably come after them again.

The only thing they could use to their advantage was the fact that _they_ were the targets. And even _that_ didn’t always help them.

One day, someone’s patience would run out. Someone was going to snap and do something crazy and drastic in a desperate bid to end this eternal cycle. Whether it was her, or Chat Noir, or Hawk Moth himself, she couldn’t say. But she knew it was coming. There wasn’t much she could do about it, either.

She didn’t like not having a plan. She didn’t like not knowing what was going to happen. She didn’t like how uneasy this all made her feel, like it was the calm before the storm. Because if near constant akuma attacks were supposed to be the calm, did she really want to know what the _storm_ could be?

It didn’t matter, at any rate. She had a job to do. Akumas to fight, civilians to save, a city protect… a reckless cat to rein in…

Oh yes. Patrol was going to be _so_ fun.

Just in case she wasn’t already positive that the universe was actively conspiring against her, the afternoon went by all too quickly, even as she spent the vast majority of it sitting at her desk, mindlessly spinning around in her chair, unable to do her homework or even work on her designs due to being overcome with crushing anxiety. Tikki tried her best to be encouraging, as always, but Marinette mostly ignored everything the kwami said. Not because it was bad advice – it never was. But because Tikki was thousands of years old and Marinette hated shoving all of her boring, annoying, typical high school drama on her when they were in the middle of a pitched battle between good and evil, fighting over the fate of the world.

Boy problems seemed so trivial in comparison to that.

Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore. The sun was going down, and she couldn’t distract herself. She may as well head out. It wouldn’t matter too much that she was painfully early, it gave her some time to run around as Ladybug and generally think about things. Maybe the feeling of wind rushing past her face would help.

Hastily, she called to her parents that she was going to bed early, before running up to the terrace, transforming, and flinging herself out into the cool evening air.

It was fine. Chat wasn’t likely to show for a couple of hours at least. She had time.

Or at least, that’s what she’d _thought_ until she arrived at their usual meeting place to find that she wasn’t the only one with notions of getting out early.

“Chat!” she gasped in surprise as she landed. “You’re… _early._ The sun’s barely down.”

It was strange. He was _never_ early. Even when she was late, half the time he wasn’t there yet. The one time she’d bothered to question him about it, he’d mumbled something about a busy schedule and left it at that. He was hardly ever around before her, and that was when she tried to aim for their normal time. Which was a lot later than this.

Had he been _that_ keen to continue taunting her about her crush?

But Chat barely responded to her observation. “I- …yeah. Had to get out.”

Almost immediately, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. He crouched down, staring absently out at the horizon, apparently a million miles away. Something in his expression looked strangely melancholic. Either something was _very_ wrong, or this was elaborate act, carefully planned out so she’d lower her guard. In that moment, she honestly couldn’t tell.

Slowly, tentatively, she approached him. “Is something wrong?”

He didn’t move, didn’t look at her, but did begin to chew his lip rather than answer her. Something was definitely wrong. He was never this quiet. Sure, they were on a need-to-know basis, but this seemed to have affected him so hugely it qualified as something she needed to know.

So, she tried again, gently placing a hand on his shoulder this time. “Hey. Talk to me.”

He shivered slightly when she touched him, and quickly shrugged out of her grip, staggering to his feet and walking a few paces away.

“I… have to tell you something,” he managed after what felt like forever, his voice low and oddly hoarse.

She sighed. “Look, Chat, if this is about last night, can we- can we just drop it? I’m not-”

“Ladybug,” he called, finally turning on his heels to face her properly. “I have to tell you something, and I _need_ you to listen and not ask me questions.”

“Okay… you’re seriously starting to scare me now,” she said slowly. “What’s this about?”

He bit his lip. “It- …it’s about me.”

 _“Chat,”_ she groaned. “If you’re trying to tell me who you are, stop. I _don’t want to know.”_

He let out a harsh, exasperated sigh. “Okay, fine. Let me start again. It’s about Hawk Moth.”

For so long, she stared. That was all she could do. There wasn’t really any other way she could react. That had quite possibly been the absolute _last_ thing she’d expected to hear upon meeting up for patrol.

“Hawk Moth?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No questions,” Chat reminded her firmly. “Okay?”

“But what… _how-?”_

 _“No questions,_ Ladybug.”

He was looking at her so earnestly, waiting for her to confirm that she would do as he asked, and it was so unlike him. He wasn’t like this. He’d never been like this in all the time she’d known him. There had been days when she’d longed for him to show a quieter side to himself, but now that she had it, she desperately wanted to go back to before, when he was loud and cocky and full of bad jokes that he threw out at every available opportunity.

He wasn’t even calling her his lady.

“But you’ve never- …wait,” she murmured, stuttering into silence as she realised what he was probably trying to get at. “Chat. Chat, do you _know_ who he is?”

He bit his lip and kept his eyes down. “…yes.”

“Are you going to _tell_ me?”

There was a long, drawn out, utterly _agonising_ silence as she waited and he fidgeted. And then, _finally,_ he exhaled softly and brought his eyes up to meet hers.

“Gabriel Agreste.”

And that was all it took.

The world suddenly came to a shuddering halt around her. All noise faded out until she was met with nothing but total, deafening silence. Even her thoughts stopped, fading out of existence as even her mind grinded to a standstill.

Gabriel Agreste. Hawk Moth?

That wasn’t right.

That _couldn’t_ be right.

It wasn’t the name she’d been expecting to hear. But then, she honestly hadn’t known _what_ she’d been expecting to hear. Just not that one.

For so long, she simply started, completely agape, at her partner, her mind reeling. “But he- …I- _…we already…_ he was akumatised! The Collector, remember?”

Surely, he remembered that fiasco. It hadn’t even been that long ago.

“I think… he did that to himself,” Chat mumbled. “On purpose.”

_What?_

No.

No, this couldn’t be happening.

Not this. Not him. Not _now._

“But _why?_ That makes _no sense.”_

“It would if he was trying to alleviate suspicion,” he said, his voice suddenly strangely flat and almost completely devoid of emotion. “If he somehow realised we’d gotten close to finding out and… all that.”

That was logical.

But it was coming from _Chat._

Since when was Chat Noir cold and logical? Since when did he think about things in that way? Wasn’t he supposed to be the impulsive one? The one who leapt head first into situations, relying on her to come up with a plan? Why had he chosen _now_ of _all_ times to suddenly do a one-eighty on that front? Was _anything_ about him real? Did she know him at _all?_

“But would he really akumatise _himself?”_ she argued. “It just seems _stupid_ to me.”

Chat didn’t meet her eye. “It wasn’t so much _stupid_ as it was a calculated risk. You know, like the risks _you_ take all the time with akumas?”

No.

No, she couldn’t deal with this.

Hawk Moth wasn’t like her.

 _She_ wasn’t like _him._

“But all of that just to throw us off the scent?” she gasped, fighting to stay in reality. “I mean, it just seems so- …how do you know, anyway? How can you be sure?”

“No questions, Ladybug.”

“But are you _sure?”_

“I’m sure.”

“Is there evidence? Chat, this is huge-”

“I’m _sure,”_ he repeated, though the slight heat in his voice was gone almost the instant it came. “Just… trust me.”

For so long, she just gaped wordlessly at him, completely at a loss. She didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t anything she _could_ say. Nothing that wasn’t questions she knew he wouldn’t answer and incoherent screaming, anyway.

How did he know? Did he have evidence? Did she trust him? What were they going to do now? Who could they tell? Wouldn’t they have to prove it, first? What would Gabriel Agreste, the man who has apparently everything, even _want_ with their miraculouses? _Where_ did he get his hands on the butterfly miraculous in the first place? Did he know who they were? Was it possible that he had been toying with the both of them all this time? What were they going to _do?_ What _could_ they do?

“But why would _Gabriel Agreste_ want our miraculouses?” she choked out after what felt like an eternity. “That makes _no_ sense.”

Chat turned away, deliberately not meeting her eye.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “I have no idea.”

He didn’t know, and neither did she, but _someone_ had to. Someone close to him had to have _some_ inkling of what could possibly be worth letting the entire world burn to Gabriel Agreste. But who was close to him? The man was a shut in, a recluse, and virulently anti-social. And besides, the people close to him might not know about his alter ego. Or worse, they _did_ know, and were in cahoots with him. People like Nathalie, or…

“Wait…” she began as cold dread clawed at her gut. “Wait, you don’t think- …you don’t think _Adrien’s_ involved somehow, do you?”

Chat jumped in surprise at her suggestion. _“No!”_

His denial was surprisingly loud, his tone far more defensive than it had any right to be. Marinette arched an eyebrow at her partner, not quite sure what to make of his reaction. Did he… did he _know_ Adrien? His panicked response to all this certainly seemed to suggest that. Were they close, then? Friends? For how long? Did he know Gabriel as well? Was that why he was so agitated and afraid?

Apparently realising his mistake, Chat almost immediately began to frantically backtrack. “I, uh, I- I mean… I don’t think so. He- he might not even _know.”_

“But he _could,”_ she pressed. “It’s a possibility.”

She hated having the thought. Adrien was handsome and sweet and unfailingly helpful, not to mention so impossibly kind-hearted. But he was also Gabriel’s son. _Hawk Moth’s_ son. Had they been in league with each other this entire time?

Dread gnawed at her. She didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to consider the possibility, even for a moment. Adrien couldn’t be. He wouldn’t. It was just so completely out of character, and as smart and talented as he was, no one was _that_ good an actor.

Or at least, she thought so. She wanted to believe that. But she had been hiding a huge part of her life from anyone and everyone for so long now, it was foolish to think no one else was doing the same.

“So that’s it?” Chat asked suddenly, bringing her sharply back to reality. “You’re just going to say Adrien’s in league with Hawk Moth even though you have no proof?”

Marinette groaned and pushed her hair back out of her face, trying desperately not to seem half as stressed as she felt. This wasn’t right. _Nothing_ about this was right. But she had to be objective and the logical part of her mind told her that it was too great a risk to ignore. It didn’t matter what Adrien was like at school. It didn’t matter that he was sweet and selfless and kind and generally the human embodiment of perfection. It didn’t matter than she was hopelessly crushing on him. What mattered was Hawk Moth. What _mattered_ was that Adrien was Hawk Moth’s _son,_ and that was something she couldn’t just ignore.

Finally, she turned to her partner, exhaling softly and attempting to be all business, even as she was screaming on the inside.

“And what about all _your_ proof Hawk Moth has been Gabriel the entire time?” she shot back at him coldly. “And how I’m supposed to take it on faith that he’d do something as reckless as _akumatising_ himself just to confuse us?”

“I’m _not_ lying about this!”

“I didn’t say you _were!”_ she shouted back at him. “But I’m trusting that you’re right. Now I need you to trust _me_ when I say Adrien’s worth investigating.”

Chat watched her with an agonised expression that looked so alien on him, given how laid-back he usually was. He was taking this _really_ badly, she noticed. He and Adrien must be terribly close for this to be hurting him so much. A small shiver went up her spine as she considered the apparently very real possibility that Chat Noir knew Adrien better than she did. She wanted to ask him, but bit back her tongue. That wasn’t the point right now.

“Besides,” she managed in a somewhat strangled voice as she fought to keep her composure. “Even if he’s _not_ part of this, he could be useful.”

The pained expression quickly morphed to one of… _anger?_ Where was _that_ coming from?

 _“Useful?”_ he repeated venomously. “You want to _use_ him against his own _father?”_

“Well, we need information,” she replied. “Adrien lives in the same house, doesn’t he? He’s already behind enemy lines, so to speak. He could help us. Give us some good reconnaissance.”

_“Reconnaissance?”_

Disbelief. Shock. Fear. Outrage. She’d never heard him talk like that before. Not to anyone, least of all her. She’d never seen him so upset, and she couldn’t for the life of her work out why. Surely he saw how important this was? How _close_ they were to ending this? Maybe he and Adrien _were_ friends, maybe it did mean a lot to him, but Chat wasn’t an _idiot._ He had to see just how much this could benefit them. He had to realise that what she was saying was the most logical choice. If Adrien was in league with his father, then he was an enemy. And if he wasn’t, he was too much of a potential asset to lose.

“We should also start staking out the Agreste estate, too,” she added, trying her best to ignore the fierce glare she was getting in return. “We should start doing that instead of our patrols. We’ve never had an akuma attack during one, anyway. We can spare it.”

“I can’t _believe_ you.”

“Well, do you have any better ideas?”

“How about we don’t immediately denounce people as evil monsters because of who they’re related to?” he suggested icily.

“Hawk Moth _is_ a monster,” she snarled back at him, having lost what little remained of her patience. “And if Adrien’s helping him, then he’s just as bad.”

That hurt to say. But she knew she was right. She was sure Chat did, too. Not that he was even close to admitting it. She couldn’t help but wonder if he ever would be.

It didn’t matter anymore. Her stupid crush didn’t matter anymore. Not in the grand scheme of things. She owed it to everyone, to her family, to her friends, to every single one of Hawk Moth’s victims, to Paris, to _herself,_ to bring him down. And if that meant sacrificing Adrien, then so be it.

Her heart thumped in her chest at the thought, but she remained firm.

It didn’t matter. It was a stupid, tiny, inconsequential crush on a boy she apparently didn’t know at all. What did that matter, in comparison?

_So be it._

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chat said quietly, after an excruciating pause.

Her lip curled. That was it. The final straw.

“He’s a _monster,_ Chat, and you _know_ it!”

At her words, her partner pulled back as if she’d burned him. In that moment, she didn’t care. She knew she was right. She’d seen what Hawk Moth did to people. What he’d tried to do to _them._ She’d seen the way he twisted people into abominations that attacked anyone and everyone, manipulating them so they turned on their loved ones, changing them until they were unrecognisable. Maybe her cure fixed all the physical damage, but she’d still seen it. All the akuma victims, they’d still _lived_ it. All the families who had watched on in horror as the people they cared about became monsters, they still remembered it. It was unforgivable.

Akuma victims were not monsters. But the man behind it all? The man pulling the strings while hiding behind a curtain of secrecy? The man who purred in the ears of the angry and confused and used them to achieve his own ends?

There was only one true monster in Paris.

“He’s not like that,” Chat whispered, his voice so quiet and timid she almost didn’t hear him. “You just don’t know-”

“Why are you defending him?” she shouted, at a loss. “You know what he does! You’ve _seen_ it – what he’s done to people, to the city! He’s _not_ an akuma – he’s not being corrupted or possessed or controlled. He’s the one doing it to everyone else. People like that, Chat, they’re beyond redemption. And most of the time, they don’t _want_ it. So don’t pretend there’s any inner goodness left in him. Because there _isn’t._ Maybe there never _was.”_

She stood there, glaring at him, hearing nothing but the blood pumping through her ears and her heart thumping relentlessly in her chest. She’d never been this angry before. Not about anything. But the more she thought about Hawk Moth, the more she thought about what he did, the angrier she became.

It was sick. It was evil and twisted and _sick,_ what he did.

And Chat just stood there, quietly trying to defend him.

_Why?_

“You know what? _Fine._ I’ll investigate this _myself,”_ she growled, shooing him off the roof. “Go on! _Go._ If you’re so against doing your _stupid job_ and _saving Paris_ because you’re so devoted to defending the reprehensible, then I’ll just do it for you.”

“Ladybug, it’s not-”

 _“Go,_ Chat!” she screamed, pulling out her yo-yo and throwing it at him, her lips curving into a grim smile when it collided with his head and he gave a startled yelp of pain. “I don’t need your help to do this. I don’t _want_ your help to do this!”

She stood there, chest heaving, glaring after Chat as he gave her one last look before vaulting off the roof, disappearing into the swiftly darkening night.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter anymore.

She _would_ do this, on her own if she had to. Nothing could stop her. Not her feelings, not her _partner,_ not Hawk Moth, nor all the akumas he could possibly throw at her. She _would_ save Paris.

She _would_ stop him.

Whatever it took.


	3. Saturday

She should have been doing homework.

Marinette knew that. The situation with her grades was tenuous enough without her actively ignoring school on the rare occasion she had actual, real, genuine time to spare – but there were too many things on her mind. Too many anxieties that nagged at her, keeping her too distracted to even begin acting like a normal person. So instead of doing her homework, instead of helping out her parents in the bakery, instead of even going out and seeing friends like a normal person on a Saturday, she stood precariously on her desk, carefully and methodically dismantling the elaborate shrine – not a _shrine,_ she insisted to herself – to her crush, all while doing her best not to acknowledge the waves of disapproval she could almost feel radiating off Tikki.

The small red kwami had already had some stern words with her over the disastrous patrol from the previous night; not that Marinette cared to listen. It was nothing she hadn’t told herself a thousand times already.

She was jumping to conclusions. She shouldn’t have treated Chat like that. She’d gotten too wrapped up in her own emotions over the situation that she hadn’t even tried to understand where he was coming from. She shouldn’t immediately condemn people for things they had no control over. She couldn’t simply decide to trust Chat when he said Gabriel was Hawk Moth while simultaneously dismissing everything else he said. She hadn’t thought about the emotional gravity of the situation, and things were more complicated than just how she saw it. Among other things.

Marinette knew she had flown off the handle. She _knew_ she’d overreacted, that she’d automatically thrown Adrien under the bus the moment she realised he had any connection to their enemy. But Chat’s insistent defence of Gabriel Agreste despite _knowing_ everything he’d done still didn’t make a whole lot of sense, no matter how she tried to think about it.

Nothing about this situation did.

Still. Maybe she shouldn’t have thrown the yo-yo at him. Maybe she could’ve handled _that_ better.

She gritted her teeth and let out a long, tired exhale. It didn’t matter. She _was_ right. Hawk Moth _was_ a monster, and even if he wasn’t in on it, Adrien remained an important lead. Perhaps he was their _only_ lead. They were never going to get any insight on how to fight their battles without him. They were never going to get any closer to discovering what was so important to Gabriel Agreste that it was worth becoming a supervillain and tearing apart Paris in an effort to steal their miraculouses just to get it.

“It’s good that you’re trying not to let your feelings get in the way of being objective,” Tikki began slowly, zipping up to Marinette’s level until she hovered close to her ear – probably to make sure she was heard. “But I think you’re taking this a little far.”

“He’s Hawk Moth’s son,” Marinette said through gritted teeth as she carefully pulled down one of the countless pictures tacked to her bedroom wall. “I can’t… I need to be _sure.”_

But just how was she going to be sure? How exactly did she plan to pursue this? Walk into school on Monday and harass Adrien? _Hey, I heard your dad’s Hawk Moth. Are you in on it?_ She couldn’t do that! He’d _freak out,_ and he’d probably ask how on earth she knew, and she’d have to tell him that she was Ladybug and that Chat Noir told her and then he’d _know who she was_ and her identity would be _compromised_ because she would’ve leaked it to a potential _enemy._ And… _and…_ how would he even take it? Knowing he was officially under investigation?

Alternatively, she could try spying on him from afar, covertly listening in on his conversations, but who was to say that would end in anything useful? She wasn’t exactly a super-spy to start off with, either. He’d _notice_ her, and he’d carefully hide away anything incriminating. If there even _was_ anything incriminating. How could she possibly begin to tell the difference?

Ugh, she needed _Chat._ He was always the more personable one, and his suit and abilities were pretty much tailor-made for stealth and sabotage – even though he refused to use them that way. He’d know how to do this. Except, she’d already made a show of completely alienating him, a feat Marinette hadn’t previously thought possible. Chat had always been loyal to a fault, it was strange to think they were actually _fighting_ over this.

Because he was being _naïve_ and an _idiot_ and defending Hawk Moth for reasons she couldn’t fathom.

“You’ve never had any reason to suspect Adrien before,” Tikki pointed out dryly, bringing Marinette sharply back to reality. “And you didn’t react like this _last_ time you thought Gabriel was Hawk Moth.”

“I didn’t know for sure then.”

“You don’t know for sure _now.”_

“Chat seemed sure. He wouldn’t lie to me. Not about this.”

“He _also_ seemed sure that Adrien wasn’t involved, but you’re ignoring that,” Tikki said with an exasperated sigh. “You can’t just pick and choose what to believe. Either you trust him, _completely,_ or you don’t.”

Marinette paused at Tikki’s words, not entirely sure how to take them. Did she trust Chat Noir? Her knee-jerk reaction was to all but scream to the heavens that _of course she did, what kind of a question was that._ But it was more than that, wasn’t it? She didn’t trust him with her identity, for one thing. Did she trust his information, despite having no idea where it came from, and knowing that he would never tell her? If she was prepared to take it on faith that Gabriel was Hawk Moth, why couldn’t she do the same when he said Adrien wasn’t involved?

He probably knew Adrien. He was biased.

And she _wasn’t?_

Slowly, Marinette glanced back at the countless pictures that plastered her bedroom wall. At least she was trying to do something about her bias. At least she was willing to entertain the possibility. So many people would rather go into denial than admit someone they cared about might be doing the wrong thing.

She shook her head and let out an agitated sigh. This was only going to confuse her the more she thought about it.

“You need to take this to Master Fu,” Tikki pressed. “He needs to know.”

Marinette chewed the inside of her cheek anxiously. “No. Not yet. I need all the facts before I bother him about it. I need to confer with Chat – if he’s even still talking to me – and I need to stake out the Agreste estate, and I need to find out how Adrien fits into it, and…”

And, she didn’t know.

She couldn’t help but hope it was just her being paranoid, that everything about Adrien that she’d fallen head-over-heels for was completely genuine and she’d been an idiot for taking it this far. She couldn’t help but hope that he really was the sweet, kind-hearted boy who’d given her his umbrella and told her that her designs were amazing and considered her a good friend despite the fact that she couldn’t string a full sentence together around him. She couldn’t help but hope that his quiet, somewhat reserved personality was just a quirk of character from being home-schooled most of his life and not a tell-tale sign that he was hiding things.

She would tell Master Fu. She’d tell him everything. But only when she was _sure._ She had to be sure. They’d suspected Gabriel once before already, after all.

She should’ve pushed, back during the Collector incident. She shouldn’t have bought it so easily. It should’ve occurred to her that he’d try to throw them off the scent. She felt so naïve and so foolish and so _stupid_ for buying it all immediately; hook, line, and sinker. And when Chat had pointed that out to her… she’d snapped. Because suddenly, it made sense. Suddenly, she became aware of the game being played on her. Suddenly, she knew just how woefully unqualified she was, just how much of stupid, silly little girl she was, because it hadn’t even _occurred_ to her that Gabriel was onto them.

He’d played them both so effortlessly and they’d been so _relieved_ to think they’d been wrong.

“Marinette,” Tikki moaned, clearly frustrated. “This can’t wait. Master Fu needs to _know.”_

“He _will_ know,” she replied shortly. “Once I’m sure.”

She had to be sure. Not like last time. She _would_ be sure.

Her insistence clearly frustrated Tikki, as the kwami buzzed agitatedly around her room.

“Sure?” she repeated incredulously. “Sure about _what?_ About Gabriel? About _Adrien?_ You’re not going to see him again until Monday – Master Fu can’t wait that long! What if Hawk Moth-?”

“Oh, what is he going to do?” Marinette cut across her. “Send _another_ akuma, and somehow expect it to be any different from the other _thousand_ that he’s sent after us? He doesn’t know that we know who he is. He couldn’t possibly. I think we’ll be safe for a few days at least.”

_“Marinette-”_

“Spots on,” Marinette barked sharply, barely reacting as a wash of pink light came over her and she found herself standing on her desk, now clad in Ladybug’s suit.

Carefully, she hopped down to the floor before making her way up to the terrace, revelling in the silence transforming had caused. She knew Tikki wouldn’t appreciate it. She knew she was going to get chewed out for it. She just… needed time. Needed space. Needed to think. Needed to head out and sit outside Gabriel Agreste’s house for several hours, hoping to glean something, _anything,_ that might hint at what he was planning.

It was going to be a long, lonely night. But this was the price she paid for being a superhero. The price she paid for being the hope of Paris. Marinette had decided a long time ago that if it meant she could help, it meant she could do good and save people, then it was worth the cost. She only wished she’d managed to come to that conclusion before Chat Noir had to give her an animated pep talk in front of the Eiffel Tower, in full view of what had felt like the entire city.

He was the reason she was still here, still fighting. He was the reason she was anything worthwhile to the people of her city. He was the reason she still had any confidence in herself at all. Chat believed in people. He always had. So maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising to hear him insist that despite what happened, despite everything, no one was beyond redemption – not even Gabriel Agreste.

It was an admirable trait, she supposed. But it was also a terribly idealistic one. And the world didn’t always accommodate idealism.

One day, maybe sooner rather than later, something was going to break him. Marinette knew that, maybe better than she wanted to admit. One day, somehow, Chat would find himself in a situation that wouldn’t end well. He’d be forced to make a hard decision, and live with the consequences. One day, they would have to do something terrible for the greater good and it would _break_ him.

 _You can’t save everyone,_ she would tell him, when it inevitably happened. _Sometimes, you can’t save anyone._

It wasn’t comforting. It wasn’t hopeful. It wasn’t a feel-good message to inspire the people. But it _was_ a sad fact of their reality, and one Chat needed to face eventually.

That was her main dominating thought she swung gracefully through the streets of Paris, ziplining from rooftop to rooftop in the direction of the Agreste estate. She’d only been there a few times, but the building was unmistakable. It towered – perhaps a little ominously, now that she knew about the evil that lurked within it – over the surrounding buildings, large and grand but also bizarrely understated and reserved at the same time. Everything one would expect from a fantastically wealthy eccentric and reclusive fashion designer who was known to rarely leave its walls.

She landed on the roof of the building across the road from the house, stretching out her aching muscles, trying to alleviate some of the tension that had built up in them over the past couple of days. To think, it had started with her stress over Chat Noir finding out about her crush. That all seemed so far away now, from a different lifetime, back when everything was all so simple and made sense.

“Stay here and you’re bound to get yourself caught, my lady,” a voice abruptly called from behind her.

Immediately, Marinette whirled around, her hand flying to her yo-yo and preparing to defend herself from a surprise attack, only to find herself facing Chat Noir himself, standing there and watching her expectantly.

“Chat!” she pretty much screamed his name. “I- uh, you… you’re here!”

_Why are you here?_

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess I am. Come on.”

She blinked several times in surprise. “Uh… where are we going?”

“If we’re going to stake out the Agreste estate, this isn’t the right place to do it,” he said, walking over to the edge of the roof without looking back at her. “Are you coming, or not?”

For a moment, Marinette remained rooted to the spot, and could only watch him wordlessly as he calmly extended his baton and used it to vault himself across the road to the roof of the estate itself, with all the grace and skill of a professional gymnast. It was all she could do to watch him go, her mind reeling at his sudden appearance.

She wasn’t going to pretend she wasn’t glad to see him. But after what had happened the night before, she’d been certain he wouldn’t be a part of her life for quite some time. At least this way, she supposed, she could talk to him, apologise for flipping out, and try her best to understand why he’d reacted the way he did. It was a good thing. She was glad to see him. But she didn’t for a moment understand why he’d bothered to come.

After a moment of hesitation and failing to move at all, she gripped her yo-yo and flung it in the direction Chat had gone, quickly swinging herself over to meet him.

“Odd place to hide, don’t you think?” she asked as she dropped in behind him. “Perched right on top of the house we’re trying to assess?”

Chat Noir jumped a little at her voice before twisting around just enough to see her in his peripheral vision.

“It’s out of view from the street, no one inside the house can possibly notice us through the windows, and we’re protected by a blind spot in the estate’s security cameras,” he told her dryly, quickly returning his attention to the house. “Trust me, it’s the best place to stake out the place without attracting attention.”

That… was a strangely comprehensive answer, all things considered.

“You know where the blind spots are in home security systems?” she asked a little incredulously, unsure what to make of this new information.

Chat’s reply was immediate, and far too nonchalant. “Yeah. I do.”

“That’s… a little worrying.”

He shrugged. “It’s not hard to case this place. Maybe took all of thirty seconds.”

Her eyes narrowed a little suspiciously. “Okay, now I’m concerned.”

Chat laughed, but it was bitter, without any real humour behind it. “Why? Scared I live an elaborate double life as a cat burglar?”

“And do you?” she asked, rolling her eyes a little.

“Sorry to disappoint Bugaboo, but I only operate on the side of the law.”

“Really,” she said flatly, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows with a healthy amount of scepticism at his words. “And here I seem to recall a time when you broke into the Louvre.”

“Correction; I broke _out_ of the Louvre.”

“And resisted arrest.”

“Okay, one, it was a case of mistaken identity and I had to clear my name, and _two,_ it’s not wrong if it’s for the greater good.”

“Watch out chaton. You almost sound like a villain.”

His expression hardened slightly, but he clearly tried to hide under a mask of his usual offhand playfulness.

“Not sure you’re in the best position to claim the moral high ground here, my lady.”

 _Shots fired,_ she couldn’t help but think in response to his comment. But despite what she liked to think, he _was_ right. How many times had she lied, cheated, pickpocketed, and betrayed people to achieve her ends when battling akumas? She’d lost count. And unlike her, Chat seemed to have serious problems with her idea to use Adrien against his father.

It was just pragmatism, she reminded herself. Chat knew that. Maybe he’d disapprove, but he’d never actually _fight_ her on it. Or at least, that’s what she’d thought before the last time they’d been together. Over the past few days she’d begun to realise that, despite what they’d been through together, she didn’t really know him at all.

“Look, Chat, about last night, I- I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I totally overreacted; I never should’ve treated you like that.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.”

She blinked several times. _Not her fault?_ It had absolutely been her fault. “What? Of course it was, you-”

“Context.”

“What?”

“You don’t have it,” he told her bluntly. “So I can’t really fault you for flipping out.”

That was… _awfully_ understanding of him, and Marinette wasn’t sure she deserved it. She couldn’t help but get the sense that he was anxious to stop talking about it, to stop it from becoming a thing with them, though why exactly he felt that way, she couldn’t say.

“That… doesn’t excuse what I did,” she said slowly, her voice low and soft. “Or what I said.”

“Look, can we just forgive and forget already?” he asked exasperatedly. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Hey, I already apologised. So that’s all on you, Chat.”

The corners of his lips twitched with the barest hint of a smile. “I forgive you.”

There was a pause as she stood there in shock and returned his attentions to the street below. For what felt like forever, she shifted anxiously from foot to foot, wanting to say something more but at a loss of what she _could_ say. He certainly seemed to have no interest in continuing the conversation.

“So,” she began awkwardly, gradually settling down next to him. “I’m guessing you’ve been here a while already. Seen anything interesting?”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Nothing that stands out. Seems like business as usual in the Agreste household.”

“And Adrien?”

He shivered slightly, but kept his face carefully straight and emotionless. “There’s nothing that implies any wrongdoing on his part.”

Marinette let out a quiet sigh and relief, despite herself. _Thank god._ “Good. That’s good.”

The second the words were out of her mouth, Chat’s eyes narrowed critically. “Weren’t you hoping for something a little more dramatic and criminal?”

She ignored his jab. “I thought it was a possibility. That doesn’t mean I _wanted_ it to be true.”

“So, you believe he’s innocent.”

“I’m not sure Gabriel involved him in this,” she said carefully. “And when you think about it, it’s unlikely. I don’t think they’re all that close… it wouldn’t make sense, given everything else. So, there. You can calm down. Your friend’s off the hook.”

He jerked in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Oh _please._ Don’t pretend you were being at all subtle. You know Adrien, don’t you?”

Chat Noir coughed. “I- …something like that, yeah.”

She hummed contentedly at that. Part of her was strangely _glad_ Adrien and Chat knew each other. Both of them seemed so lonely, in their own ways. Adrien had always been so reserved, and something about Chat was just, way too overeager when it came to any kind of social interaction. Like he’d somehow been starved of it his whole life. Maybe they had more in common than anyone realised.

And when she thought about it like that, she couldn’t help but wonder how and when that friendship had started.

“I’ll be honest,” she mumbled after a pause, unable to stand the all too frequent awkward silences that punctured their conversations now. “I didn’t think you’d show.”

All that earned her in response was a quiet grunt.

“I was wrong about Adrien,” she said. “It was an overreaction on my part to accuse him just because of who he’s related to. I’ll admit that. But Gabriel…”

“Is a monster,” he finished for her, a distinct edge in his voice. “Right? He’s a monster with no redeeming qualities whatsoever that we have to take down whatever the cost.”

She sighed and squared her shoulders. “Look. I get it. It’s hard when someone you know gets accused of something horrible; you automatically get defensive and it’s not always something you can control. I _get_ that. But we have to be objective about this.”

“I’m nothing _but_ objective, my lady.”

She pursed her lips at his flippant response. “I’m _serious._ Gabriel Agreste isn’t the type to act rashly. He’s cold and he’s calculating, and he doesn’t make mistakes. If we’re going to match him, then neither can we.”

That didn’t garner a response from him at all. Marinette exhaled softly, trying not to make it obvious just how uneasy his relative silence was making her. He hadn’t been this quiet since… well, since the last time Gabriel Agreste had been the target of their suspicions, during the Collector incident. Something about that man seemed to seriously spook Chat, even before he found out who he was.

 _However_ he found that out. Marinette knew she was probably never going to know, and tried to accept that despite how much it frustrated her. She wanted to be sure. How could she be, when she didn’t even know what evidence Chat apparently had against Gabriel? When she’d probably _never_ know? She could hardly drag _Chat_ to Master Fu and get _him_ to debrief the old man on the situation.

Or could she?

Could she do that?

Slowly, her eyes shifted back to her uncharacteristically quiet partner – he might’ve regained some of his old humour, but he was hardly back to his normal talkative, flirty, joking self. Her mouth went dry as she tried to work out how to word herself, how to innocently suggest he present his evidence in private, without her there.

But maybe it wasn’t just her he wasn’t comfortable sharing with. Maybe it was everyone.

Maybe she just had to trust him. Trust that he was right. Maybe her only way to be sure was to know that _he_ was sure. Maybe that just had to be good enough.

“Are you okay?” she asked slowly. “I don’t think you’ve made a single lame joke since… uh, since everything happened.”

She wasn’t sure she liked it. Before, she’d have been relieved the seemingly endless stream of truly awful puns had come to an end, but now, it just seemed unnatural. Maybe it was because she understood just how something must have upset him for him to actually go all quiet and broody like this.

Chat didn’t look at her. “I guess I’m just _feline_ a little shocked,” he told her, his tone too light and the pun too forced to be entirely believable. “And I’ll have you know, none of my jokes are _lame.”_

“Chat.”

“Honestly, I’m _appawlled_ you’d even think that. _Lame._ You’ve got to be _kitten_ me.”

_“Chat.”_

There was a pause as he seemed to accept that the act wasn’t going to convince her that he was fine any time soon.

“I don’t know,” he sighed after too long. “It’s just… _weird,_ I guess, to think that the man who’s been terrorising Paris all this time is a world-famous fashion designer.”

“And a father,” she supplied quietly.

Chat jerked in surprise so violently that for a moment, she feared he would tumble right off the roof and plummet down onto the street below. His claws scraped against the roof, leaving gouge marks in their wake as he fought to regain balance.

“W-what?” he stammered uselessly when he recovered.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Adrien,” she told him. “I doubt he knows what’s going on. We’ll probably have to tell him, and I can’t help but wonder how he’ll react. I mean, finding out your dad’s- …I can’t imagine what that would be like.”

Chat Noir blinked several times before turning away. “I- …they’re not… I don’t think they’re all that close.”

“All the same,” she murmured, glancing up at the sky. “We should talk to him.”

“What?”

“Adrien.”

Chat’s expression immediately hardened. “You still want to pit him against his father?”

She rolled her eyes and turned away. “I _want_ to stop Hawk Moth. I _want_ to find out why he wants our miraculouses so badly, and what he intends to do with them. And right now, the _only_ potential lead we have is Adrien.”

“It’s not that hard to work out. Whoever possesses both our miraculouses gets untold power, remember? People like power. What more is there?”

“He wants that power for a _reason,_ Chat,” she argued.

“Or maybe he just wants it. For the sake having power.”

“I refuse to believe a man capable of raising someone like Adrien Agreste is just a power-hungry lunatic,” she countered quietly. “There _must_ be an ulterior motive.”

“He’s been _attacking Paris with various supervillains,”_ Chat pointed out bitterly. “He’s a monster, you said it yourself.”

“And I know you don’t believe that,” she said plainly. “It doesn’t excuse him. It doesn’t excuse what he’s done. But knowing your enemy is the first step in stopping them.”

Chat groaned and stood up. “Go talk then. Just don’t expect it to go over all that smoothly.”

“We should do it together.”

He whirled around, eyes wide with surprise. “What?”

“If we’re going to bring Adrien on side, we should do it _together,”_ she insisted.

“No.”

“What?”

 _“No,”_ he repeated venomously. “You want to do it, fine. But that’s all on you.”

 _“Why_ are you being so _cagey_ about this?!” she demanded furiously. “We need to _know,_ Chat! We find out the end goal, we could stop the akuma attacks! _Permanently!_ Don’t you _want_ that? Isn’t that why we’re _here?_ Why we were _given_ the miraculouses in the _first place?”_

 _“Of course_ I want to stop it, I just-”

“You can’t just come out of the blue and tell me that you know who Hawk Moth is without telling me why or how you know!” she all but screamed at him. “And you _can’t_ get angry at me for thinking there’s a chance his _son_ could be involved somehow! Again, without telling me _why!”_

“Adrien’s not involved,” he said, again, just as stubbornly as ever. “You _just said_ you didn’t think so yourself.”

“But at least I’m willing to entertain the possibility,” she snapped. “Besides, how do you know? It’s not that illogical of a conclusion to jump to.”

“He’s _not involved.”_

“How do you _know,_ Chat? What do you know that I don’t? Why aren’t you _telling_ me?!”

“Because you can’t have it both ways!” he snapped back, short and vicious. “Because _you’re_ the one who’s always insisting we hide who we are. _You’re_ the one who made me promise I wouldn’t tell you. So, either I lie to keep that promise, or I break it to tell you the truth. You _can’t have it both ways.”_

A tense silence descended upon them as Chat glared at her and she glared back and neither of them could come up with anything worthwhile to say. She sighed heavily. She didn’t want to argue, not with Chat. Not over something like this. If there was ever a time they had to be united, a team, a cohesive and effective partnership, it was _now._ They were so close.

And then, finally, something in her mind clicked.

And suddenly, she couldn’t breathe.

 _No,_ part of her mind whispered. _Not that. You’re being ridiculous. It’s not. It can’t be._

_That’s impossible._

_It can’t be._

“Chat,” she murmured, her voice strangely hoarse now.

He groaned loudly and stopped dead in his tracks, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought we were _done_ talking about this?”

“Chat _Noir,”_ she said again, her voice louder and more insistent this time.

Slowly, he turned, his eyes narrowed and wary. “What?”

“I think… I’m finally starting to understand,” she murmured, trying her best to remain as composed as possible, even though her world was surely crumbling around her, out of her control. And it was all she could do to just stand there and watch it go.

His brow creased in both confusion and annoyance. “Understand what?”

“Everything.”

There was a tense pause as they both stood there, watching each other, neither really knowing what to say. Marinette couldn’t do anything else – she couldn’t get her mind to work. Everything suddenly made _so much sense_ and she couldn’t _believe_ it, because it was _insane._ Even by her exceptional standards, it was _insane._

“You can perfectly navigate the Agreste estate’s security system because you _live_ there,” she noted, her voice cracking. “You _knew_ the Adrien that Volpina took hostage was an illusion, not because of a _sixth sense,_ but because he couldn’t be in two places at once. You know Gabriel Agreste is Hawk Moth and you’re scared of what that means because he’s your _father.”_

He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her with wide, shocked eyes, too stunned to say anything. Marinette could feel the tears welling up in her eyes as reality came crashing down on her like a tonne of bricks.

There was no denial. There wasn’t anything. Nothing but utter, deafening silence that dominated everything, and only acted as confirmation for what she truly hadn’t wanted to know. Nothing but her own shock and dawning horror as she came to understand just what exactly she’d said to him, last night, the night before, and every day going back for as long as they’d known each other.

She didn’t want to know.

She didn’t want to be here, in this situation.

_She didn’t want to know._

Not here.

Not him.

Not like this.

“Adrien, I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she did so. “I’m _so_ sorry, I- I didn’t know.”

 _Please forgive me,_ she found herself silently pleading. _I didn’t know it was you._

For an agonisingly long time, Chat – _Adrien_ – didn’t reply. He didn’t even look at her. And the whole time, all she could do in return was stare, stare mindlessly at him as her mouth went dry and she struggled to connect two boys who seemed so incredibly different. She knew she was right. His reaction had told her that much. She just couldn’t believe it. The normal, logical part of her knew it was the only possible conclusion. But the rest of her simply couldn’t – or perhaps _refused_ – to accept it.

Because Adrien Agreste was quiet and sweet and the perfect gentleman and Chat Noir was loud, cocky, full of puns, an incorrigible flirt, and not to mention, a totally socially inept _dork._

Adrien – _Chat_ – was standing right in front of her, staring with wide, shocked eyes.

It was _Adrien Agreste,_ and she _knew_ it was him so she _should_ have turned into a stammering mess by now but somehow it never happened. Maybe it was because he hadn’t changed, he simply stood there, still clad in Chat Noir’s suit, Chat Noir’s catlike eyes staring at her from behind Chat Noir’s mask. If she tried, she could pretend. She could ignore the fact that his demeanour had shifted dramatically over the past couple of days; from Chat’s light-hearted flirtatiousness and lopsided smiles at his own jokes to something far quieter, more reserved, guarded, and undeniably Adrien Agreste.

How did he _do_ that? Just change who he was, his whole personality, on a dime?

How was she ever going to effectively hunt down akumas with him again? She couldn’t even keep her balance around Adrien, couldn’t even bring herself to stammer out a full, coherent sentence. She was going to fall into a useless, utterly pathetic mess and it was all his fault.

Except it wasn’t _his_ fault. It was hers. Maybe he’d been stressed out beyond belief, but _she_ was the one who’d made him stressed in the first place, by accusing him – to his _face,_ however unintentionally – of being in league with their dreaded enemy. He could’ve revealed himself to her on his own terms a lot earlier, to prove his innocence, but he hadn’t. He’d tried to keep it all hidden, because he knew how she felt about their identities. He’d tried. It wasn’t his fault she’d put two and two together.

How was she ever going to live this down? How could she _possibly_ forgive herself? How could she ever feel she deserved her miraculous ever again?

Was this how Adrien felt, knowing who his father was?

 _Focus,_ she chided herself. _You are Ladybug. You are the picture of cool, calm professionalism. He’s still Chat._

She forced her eyes to meet his, and suddenly, despite the fact that he hadn’t changed at all, Chat was gone and all she could see was Adrien. A sad, lonely, confused, mildly horrified Adrien.

 _Still Chat,_ she insisted to herself.

If only she could bring herself to believe that.

“Does your father know?” she asked eventually, after she finally found her voice again.

His eyebrows rose at that, mildly affronted by the question. “You think I’m idiot enough to tell _Hawk Moth_ that I’m _Chat Noir?”_

“Well, _you_ know that _he’s_ Hawk Moth-”

“Something I found out quite accidentally.”

“How _did_ you find out?”

“Elaborate shenanigans.”

She nodded slowly, taking note of his deliberate evasion. “And by that, you mean…?”

He shrugged and looked away. “It was a bunch of things, really. Things I found around the house, bits and pieces of conversations I overheard… it all just sort of snowballed until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

That was still painfully vague on his part, but she wasn’t going to press him. Not now. Not after everything that had just happened. It wasn’t the right time.

Was it _ever_ going to be the right time, after this?

He was _Adrien._

 _Of course_ he was Adrien.

Gabriel was Hawk Moth, so why _wouldn’t_ it turn out that Adrien was Chat Noir?

If the universe hadn’t been actively conspiring against her before, it certainly was now.

“Adrien, if there’s _any_ chance he knows…” she began, biting her lip as she did so. “He might try to manipulate you. You can’t let him. You _can’t_ give him your miraculous, no matter what he says to you.”

His expression immediately hardened. “That’s not a fear you need to have, my lady.”

Her eyes widened a little when he called her that. It seemed so natural, so _normal,_ and yet, so alien. _Adrien Agreste_ was calling her that. _Adrien Agreste_ had been calling her that since pretty much the instant they met.

Why couldn’t she rid herself of the feeling he was just pulling out the affectionate nicknames in an attempt to reassure her that he was still the same person, still Chat?

 _Was_ he, though? They were so different. Almost irreconcilably so. Which one was real? Were _either_ of them real? He’d shown, just recently, how effortlessly he could completely shift his character. It was now, now that she knew the truth, that she realised she had no idea who he was. Not really. Adrien Agreste was obviously hiding things, but Chat Noir was clearly an overcompensation. For what, she didn’t know exactly. In that moment, she wasn’t sure she even _wanted_ to know.

And just like that, she felt her own words coming back to haunt her.

_You don’t know him, Chat._

And suddenly, his reply took on a whole new meaning.

_Do you?_

Obviously, she didn’t. At all.

“I’m just worried about you,” she insisted quietly, trying to claw her way back to reality. “You know he preys on negative emotions, and-”

“Don’t be,” he told her gently. “If there’s _one_ thing I’m safe from, it’s getting akumatised. I mean, he wouldn’t do that to me. He’s not a _total_ monster.”

“He’s akumatised plenty of kids,” she reminded him, unable to shake herself of the memories of Manon –sweet, innocent little Manon – laughing maniacally as she came so close to taking their miraculouses; all while Hawk Moth purred in her ear.

“But his own son?” Adrien asked, eyebrows raised questioningly.

She bit her lip. Honestly, she didn’t share his confidence. But something about him, his expression, the way he asked; it was almost like he was silently begging her to agree with him. Like he needed that assurance, and was so desperate to know that his father cared about him, at least a little, at least enough not to turn him into a monster, as he had done with so many other innocent people.

She sighed, hating herself. “I don’t know. I don’t _know,_ Adrien. We don’t know him, not really. We have no idea what he’s capable of.”

Would Gabriel really do that? Would he go that far? She didn’t know. Gabriel was Hawk Moth and _Adrien was Chat Noir_ and she didn’t know _anything_ anymore.

Adrien was Chat Noir.

Nothing about that sounded right.

She started to wonder if it would _ever_ sound right to her.

Did it even matter anymore? It was _over._ Their nice, blissful, easy partnership was gone to the wind. Chat Noir was Hawk Moth’s son and she was never going to be okay again. She thought she’d hated keeping secrets, but really, now that it was all out in the open, she desperately wanted them back.

She didn’t want to know. About Gabriel, about Adrien, about _anything._ She didn’t want to know, and now there was no way she could go back.

“I suppose… I suppose it’s only fair then,” she started, slow and halting, “I know about you, so I should tell you-”

Quickly, he reached out, his hands clasping her shoulders with a gentle but firm grip.

“No,” he hissed, before realising how aggressive he sounded and pulling back slightly. “I just- _no._ Don’t.”

“A-Adrien?” she stammered his name – why was it so _hard_ to say his _name_ – her eyes finally flicking up to meet his.

She didn’t know what to do. She wanted to forget it all, forget any of it ever happened. She wanted to crawl into a dark hole and never come out. She wanted to throw herself into the void and never have to look at him again. She didn’t deserve him. She didn’t deserve anything about him. Not as Chat, certainly not as Adrien. She couldn’t even look at him anymore.

_She didn’t want to know._

“I _get it,”_ he insisted. “I get why you’re always so hung up about it – I’m too close, and I can’t get out. It doesn’t have to be that way for you.”

“Chat- …I- I mean, _Adrien…”_

God, what was she supposed to call him anymore?

“I can’t stop being Gabriel Agreste’s son,” he told her, his voice low and firm, his hands clasped gently around hers. “I can’t not be a risk. I’m _too close._ But _you_ don’t have to be connected to this at all. It’s better if I don’t know. It’s… safer.”

Marinette blinked in surprise and shock.

_Safer?_

What was he talking about?

“I get it,” he repeated, his tone soft, subdued, and full of barely contained devastation.

_Oh no._

_Oh no, no, no…_

“Adrien,” she whispered, understanding what he was doing. “Adrien, don’t. Please, _please,_ don’t.”

Because this was what he did. This was the one thing he’d always done, unfailingly, every time she faced any real danger. This was the one thing he thought he was good for. He was sacrificing himself and his happiness to spare her from potential pain. _Again._ It was something he had done with such an astounding frequency, sometimes it seemed practically expected. He’d take hits meant for her. Let himself get wounded, corrupted, controlled, or hell, _almost killed,_ just so she wouldn’t be.

And it had been Adrien, all this time.

 _Adrien Agreste_ had done that for her. _Adrien Agreste_ had repeatedly put himself in harm’s way for her. _Adrien Agreste_ would let himself suffer so she wouldn’t have to. _Adrien Agreste_ had been constantly putting her life before his. _Adrien Agreste_ had.

Never had she wanted to kiss someone so badly.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered hoarsely. “Adrien, you don’t-”

He smiled and shook his head, gently pressing one clawed finger against her lips to silence her.

“Yes, I do,” he told her, a small, sad smile playing upon his lips. “Better only one of us is at risk than both.”

“Don’t do this,” she managed, hating herself as her voice cracked and tears continued to well up in her eyes until they spilled down her cheeks. “Hawk Moth-”

He shook his head, cutting her off. “It’s not going to happen. I won’t _let_ it.”

Before she could protest, his fingers gripped the ring – his ring, his _miraculous_ – and he pulled it off.

There was an almost blinding flash of neon green. Marinette blinked, seeing Chat Noir one moment and the next finding herself standing face to face with what at that point she was half convinced was her worst nightmare. Anxiously, she glanced around, trying to see some sign of his kwami appearing, but was greeted with nothing.

That meant-

This was real.

Oh god, he was really doing this.

_Why was he doing this?_

She didn’t move. She couldn’t. She remained completely still, staring mindlessly at Adrien as he pressed the ring – his ring, _Chat’s ring,_ Chat’s _miraculous_ – into her palm, gently folding her fingers over it and giving her a long, meaningful look. A look that told her everything she didn’t want to know. Everything she couldn’t bring herself to accept.

Then, after what seemed like forever, he pulled back, a small, sad smile pulling at his lips as he gave her a brief mock-salute.

“See you, Bugaboo,” he farewelled her cheerfully, though he was unable to hide the underlying pain in his tone. “I have to hope we don’t cross paths again. For both our sakes.”

 _“Chat-!”_ she screamed, rushing to grab him, to pull him back, to insist that they should _talk_ about this first, only to find herself grabbing at nothing but air.


	4. Monday

The next akuma attack happened barely two days later, and seemed to be the result of impeccable timing on Hawk Moth’s part. Marinette couldn’t help but be a little impressed at just _how_ well-timed it had been, however grudgingly. It was either an insane fluke, or something, somewhere, had leaked, and he _knew_ she was on her own. Just what exactly did Gabriel know? How closely was he watching? What else had he noticed? Just how compromised was she? Had Adrien been right to give up his miraculous and distance himself from her?

Paranoid thoughts whizzed through her mind, pulling at both old anxieties and new ones as she clumsily hit the ground, her knees immediately buckling under her own weight and sending her rolling across the street, sliding across the asphalt at speeds that would’ve stripped away her suit and every layer of her skin and muscle, right to the bone had she been protected by anything less than outright magic. All around her, people ran in the opposite direction of the ever-widening trail of destruction, all while Hawk Moth’s latest victim calmly picked her way through the hysteria and panic, revelling in the chaos she was causing.

They were all like that; taking some sick pleasure in the destruction. Was it just the result of negative, obsessive emotions getting blown way out of proportion, or did they somehow take on traits of Hawk Moth himself, once he managed to successfully influence them into doing his bidding?

It wasn’t a nice thought. But neither was the thought that she was still waiting for backup she knew she would never receive. Constantly, she was catching herself looking for the familiar black outline of her partner, hoping against hope that he was somehow there, hiding in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But Chat Noir never showed, and Marinette knew it was because his miraculous remained secured in a locked box hidden in a drawer of her desk.

She was on her own.

And in that moment, there was _nothing_ more terrifying than that.

She was on her own.

No one was coming to bail her out.

No one was going to take hits meant for her.

No one was going to play the distraction so she had time to come up with a plan.

Maybe she’d grown complacent, coming to rely on Chat Noir and the role he generally played every time they got into a fight. But when she thought about it, there had never been any indication that she would ever have to face any of this alone. Even in the times she’d found herself fighting him for whatever reason, she always managed to turn it to her advantage, and turn him back to her side eventually. Now…

Now she didn’t know. Now, all she could think of were plans that inevitably involved his cataclysm.

Which she didn’t have.

Because he wasn’t there anymore.

One of their greatest assets, and she’d lost it.

There was only so much her lucky charm could do – and right now, that appeared to be a tea towel.

What was she going to do with a _tea towel?_

She was broken out of her thoughts when she slammed roughly into a lamppost, the blow punching the air from her lungs and sending pain spiking throughout her body. She let out a grunt and rolled onto her back, staring up at the sky and trying to breathe. Blood dripped from a graze on her cheek, and her insides churned as she tried to recover herself. Everything hurt so much and all she could do about it was lay there and wait for the end.

How on _earth_ had Adrien managed to get it into his head that she could do this without him? She couldn’t do _anything_ without him.

Everything hurt. Her head pounded and her body stung and her muscles ached and every fibre in her being was screaming at her to stop fighting, to give up, to lay down and die and let Paris burn around her.

Except, that would be _stupid,_ because no matter how bad this was, no matter how much pain she was in, there were people counting on her and she couldn’t fail them. Hawk Moth had already taken so much from her; she wasn’t about to let him take Paris and the miraculouses too.

She wouldn’t let him win.

She would get it all back.

She would get her _partner_ back.

“Nowhere to run, bug,” the akuma spat down at her, flecks of salvia landing on Marinette’s cheek as she reached down to take the earrings. “Now, give me your miraculous.”

Automatically, her lip curled, her eyes never leaving the jewelled bracelet on the girl’s wrist.

There was a chance. Just one, and it wouldn’t be without its consequences, but she was desperate and one chance was all she needed to end this.

“You _first,”_ she hissed, unsure if she was addressing the girl or the man controlling her, while tightly looping the tea towel around her attacker’s arm and wrenching it down with everything she had, smashing it against the ground with magically enhanced strength.

_I’m sorry._

There was an all too loud _crack_ as the bracelet hit the asphalt with more force than it could withstand, splitting the gems and releasing the akuma itself. The girl let out a blood curdling scream and ripped herself away, clutching her fractured wrist to her chest. Marinette tried her best to ignore it as she rolled over and staggered weakly to her feet, wiping the blood from her face and pulling out her yo-yo to capture and purify the loose akuma, even as she felt a thousand critical, horrified stares on her from every direction, and it wasn’t hard to see why.

The cure didn’t fix injuries. She knew that from the countless scrapes and bruises she’d sustained throughout her career as Ladybug. It was why she’d always been so careful not to do this.

 _I’m sorry,_ she thought, over and over again, hating herself for what she’d done to the girl, even as she threw her tea towel in the air and unleashed the cure. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry._

Marinette knew she’d just hurt someone. She knew she’d just broken a girl’s wrist. Granted, it was to save her, but how long until the ends stopped justifying the means? How long before her actions, her sheer _determination_ to stop Hawk Moth made her indistinguishable from her enemy?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, touching the girl’s shoulder as she rocked back and forth, gasping for air through her tears. “Oh god, I am _so sorry,_ I- …she needs help! Someone call an ambulance!”

Almost immediately, people rushed over to them, many pulling out their phones. Marinette fidgeted anxiously, trying to ignore how much she was hurting herself and too focused on making sure the girl was okay. Even when a shrill beeping sounded out from her earrings, reminding her that she only had so much time, she couldn’t bring herself to move away; at least, not immediately.

“Look after her,” she told a man who was already crouched over the akuma victim, looking over her wrist. “Please, just make sure she’s okay. I’m _so_ sorry I had to do that.”

Whether the man replied or not, she didn’t know. There wasn’t enough time. There were people everywhere, clamouring over, talking amongst themselves, their expressions generally that of fear, or shock. Marinette wished she could stay. She wished she could say something. But she didn’t have _time._

So, she bolted.

She didn’t have to hear it to know what people were saying. She didn’t _want_ to hear it, regardless. She didn’t want to think about the fact that she’d just had to take on an akuma on her own and everyone in Paris had probably noted the distinct lack of a leather-clad cat boy by now. Come the evening, they’d be inundated with countless articles and reports and forums and what have you all asking the same questions. No doubt she’d eventually be faced with a hysterical Alya _freaking out_ because Chat Noir _never_ missed a fight, and something had to be terribly wrong. No doubt it would be the main topic of conversation in class tomorrow.

And if Adrien bothered to come to school, which he undoubtedly _would,_ for the sake of keeping up appearances if nothing else, it would be right in front of the boy himself.

Would he watch this on the news tonight? Would he see the footage of her getting unceremoniously slammed into the ground and blame himself? Would the guilt over not being there for her be enough to overcome his crushing fear of Hawk Moth and what his relation to him could potentially do to them? Marinette doubted it. But she had to hope. It wasn’t the same without him.

 _Nothing_ was the same without him.

She needed him back. That was the only coherent thought that crossed her mind as she limped down the street, wincing in pain, trying to find a safe, secluded corner where she could transform back and examine herself. There would be bruises. She knew that. Everything hurt too much for there _not_ to be bruises. She needed to be aware of each one, so she could construct a careful lie to be ready for when people noticed – and people _would_ notice.

Would Adrien notice?

Would he realise it was her?

Part of her wanted him to. Wanted him to know who she was so he wouldn’t have a reason to do this anymore. He could hardly cut himself off from Ladybug for her safety if he knew she was in his class at school, after all. And then he’d come back to her and she’d give the ring back and everything would finally be okay again. It would all go back to the way it was and she wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

Except, it wouldn’t. Because even if Adrien came back, even if she gave the ring back and he accepted it, even if he returned as Chat Noir and everything went back to the way it was, there was still the knowledge that his father was Hawk Moth, looming over them like a shroud.

She didn’t even know how to _start_ dealing with that mess. She didn’t know how to deal with _any_ of it.

Marinette let out a ragged sigh and wiped a small trail of blood from her cheek, hastily ducking into an alley where she knew she wouldn’t be seen. Hawk Moth. It all came back to him. It would _always_ come back to him.

Even if the timing had been nothing but a coincidence, there was no way Gabriel didn’t know she was alone and at a disadvantage now. He’d come for her again. She had to be ready for the barrage of attacks she knew would come her way. She had to talk to Adrien. She had to do it _now,_ before things got worse.

She sighed. Things were _already_ worse.

The beeping returned, this time more frantic and shrill than ever before. Marinette all but fell against the brick wall of the building she was hiding behind, sliding to the ground and pulling her knees to her chest. She buried her face in her hands, fighting back tears as a wash of pink came over her, and Tikki spiralled into the air in front of her, utterly exhausted.

She wasn’t the only one.

Tikki looked as though she was about to say something, but stopped when Marinette silently dug around in her bag for something to feed her with. For a brief moment, neither said anything. They didn’t even look at each other. There wasn’t anything else they could do.

“That was close,” the kwami whispered as she accepted the cookie being offered to her. “You’re hurt.”

There was an incoherent grunt made in response, as Marinette shook her head slightly and tried to shrug the whole thing off, even as her fingertips touched the bloody graze on her cheek.

“You can’t keep going like this.”

Marinette managed a rueful smile. “Hey. I have _one_ bad fight and suddenly I can’t do this anymore? You’re supposed to have a little more faith in me than that.”

What a Chat Noir-ish thing to say.

It had been all of two days and already she was missing him so much she was beginning to talk like him, just to fill the void he’d left in her life.

A heavy sigh escaped her, and she tried not to think about just how much she was shaking, or how close she was to bursting into tears.

Everything hurt.

Everything hurt, she’d broken a girl’s wrist to save her, she’d gone against everything she stood for and Chat Noir wasn’t there to save her. For what felt like the first time in her _life,_ she was utterly alone.

“I have to talk to Adrien,” she managed to gasp out between shaky breaths.

Tikki huffed a little. “I still think you should return his miraculous to Master Fu.”

Marinette shook her head. “No.”

“But he could find someone else to help you.”

“And then what? Get a new Chat Noir?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “No thanks. I like the one I have.”

“You don’t _have_ him, Marinette. You don’t have _anyone.”_

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll convince him to come back.”

And then he’d take the ring back and they’d talk about everything and she would apologise – _again_ – for doubting him and they’d fix everything. They’d figure out what to do about Gabriel and everything would be fine again. It had to be. Everything would go back to the way it was and nothing would be wrong and they could all go on like this never happened. Marinette clung to that hope desperately. It was the only thing that kept her going anymore.

“Marinette,” Tikki called her name gently. “Adrien gave up the ring of his own free will. You can’t force it back on him.”

“And he’ll take it back of his own free will!” she insisted, indignant.

“And if he doesn’t _want_ it back?” Tikki challenged quietly. “What then?”

Then…

Then she didn’t know.

“I’ll fix it,” she said, her voice quiet, shaky, and feeble. “I’ll fix everything, and it’ll all be okay. Everything will go back to the way it was.”

Except, it would _never_ go back to the way that it was. It would never be the same again because she’d ruined it. She’d gone and she’d broken it, broken them, broken the partnership, broken everything worth anything to her. Adrien was Chat Noir except he wasn’t anymore and she couldn’t help but get the niggling feeling that this was her fault, that she’d somehow put him up to this. Because he was who he was. Because he was too close. Because it was safer, this way.

She’d ruined it. Chat Noir was gone and he wasn’t coming back and she’d ruined _everything._ She’d ruined all of it, and she didn’t know how to fix it anymore. She didn’t know how to talk to him. Didn’t know how to convince him, beyond incoherent wailing in his direction and generally sobbing hysterically about how she needed him.

It wasn’t even a lie.

She _needed_ him. She wasn’t Ladybug without him. She never _could_ be Ladybug without him. What was she without him? A frightened little girl, playing pretend. Some stupid teenager with stupid teenage problems cracking under the pressure, struggling under the weight of her own self-doubt. Her partner wasn’t here to drag her kicking and screaming out of her funk with cheerful pep talks and a torrent of stupid puns and bad jokes she couldn’t help but laugh at anymore.

He _made_ her. He brought out the best in her. She couldn’t be who she was without him. She couldn’t be someone she was actually _proud_ to be without him there, knowing she'd been the one to drive him away.

Everything had been so much better before she found out who he was. It had been easier. Everything had been fine and no one had any reason to leave and she hadn’t been alone. She wished she’d never realised who he was. She wished she didn’t know. She’d never even _wanted_ to know, in the first place. Chat had been Chat and that was it and she was happy with that. But _Adrien_ was Chat and now he wasn’t even that anymore.

She was abruptly broken out of her thoughts when her phone buzzed.

Hastily, Marinette pulled the device out of her pocket and stared blankly at it, while Tikki instinctively disappeared into her bag. There was a pause as Marinette continued to stare quizzically at her phone, until it buzzed again, Alya’s photo showing up on the screen.

_Alya._

Marinette didn’t know what to do. She could barely talk to _Tikki,_ how was she going to maintain her composure around someone who didn’t already know everything? Around someone she was lying to? Someone she was hiding everything from? She’d have to come up with a reason as to why she was hurt. She’d have to come up with a reason as to why she was so _upset._

She didn’t want to do this.

She didn’t want to lie anymore.

Her phone buzzed again, more insistent and impatiently now. Marinette’s fingers hovered over the screen, shaking slightly as she tried to figure out to do. Part of her knew Alya would likely keep calling until she answered, one way or another. There probably wasn’t much sense in ignoring her.

But oh, she did _not_ want to talk right now.

She was going to have to eventually.

She gritted her teeth. She should just get it over with. Stop delaying. Keep it short and fast, rip it off like a band-aid.

She breathed. She could do this. She could pretend to be normal for a few minutes.

 _Like a band-aid,_ she reinforced to herself as she answered.

“Alya,” she murmured.

“Girl, where _are_ you?!” Alya’s all too familiar voice all but screeched from the receiver. “I’ve been trying to call you for like, the past _hour!”_

Marinette closed her eyes and exhaled softly, trying to focus. “I- uh… yeah, Alya, um… there- there was an akuma-”

“I _know!_ Why do you think I’ve been trying to call you? Where _are_ you?”

“I- I’m…” Marinette began, glancing awkwardly around the alley she was cowering in. “I’m in an alley.”

“An alley,” Alya repeated dryly. “Thanks Mari, that’s _real_ helpful, there’s only a million and one of those in Paris.”

“Sorry…”

Her half-hearted apology was met with an irritated sigh. “Don’t worry about it. I can hear you’re distraught just over the phone, so I’ll just do the talking. Are you near where the akuma was?”

“Y-yeah, like a street down. Behind a big brick building. Does that help?”

Alya breathed an audible sigh of relief before muttering something largely indistinguishable – most likely apologies to people she was pushing past, as it sounded like she was in a crowd. “Okay. Okay, I’m coming to find you. Stay on the phone until I get there, okay?”

“Alya…” Marinette groaned softly. “Stop worrying about me.”

“No can do girl, you just got caught up in an akuma attack and from the sound of it, you’re about to break into pieces. Looks like you’re stuck with me in overprotective best friend mode for the rest of the day at _least.”_

Marinette wanted to protest, but couldn’t really bring herself to say anything. She stared absently at her feet, barely acknowledging Alya’s ramblings on the other line. Something about the fight, she knew that much. If Alya could be relied on for one thing, it was barrelling her way onto any and every scene that involved Ladybug in some capacity. She’d been so engrossed in freaking out over Adrien’s departure and not getting pounded relentlessly into the ground that she hadn’t noticed.

“…so crazy, Ladybug just straight up _broke_ this girl’s wrist. Like, I get that it’s her job or whatever and you have to do what you have to do, but it’s never been that violent before,” Alya was saying, her voice low and little frantic. “People didn’t used to get hurt back when this first started, you know? At least, nothing worse than a bruise here and there. Oh man, Mari, I think it’s getting worse, and I think Ladybug knows.”

“Mm.”

That was all she could manage.

“I mean, I’d have asked her about it, but Ladybug was gone by the time I managed to get through the crowd. You know how those two seem to always disappear after fights – _so_ annoying, by the way – it’s impossible to get more than a minute with either of them.”

“Y-yeah,” Marinette breathed, not sure if it was better or worse to focus on the conversation, rather than the churning in her stomach or the dull, thudding pain in her head.

It hurt. _Everything_ hurt. It hurt to speak, it hurt to move, it hurt to breathe. She’d never walked away from a fight in this much pain before, and she couldn’t rid herself of the thought that Adrien probably had. The amount of times he’d shielded her…

She needed him back. She needed him back and she needed to never take him for granted ever again.

 _“Marinette!”_ she heard Alya’s voice scream her name – both in real life and over the phone.

Jerkily, she looked up, just in time to see her best friend charging towards her.

“Oh my god, Marinette,” Alya pretty much shouted as she got closer, hanging up the call and pocketing her phone. “You’re hurt!”

Feebly, Marinette tried to wave her away. “I’m fine. It’s just a graze.”

And a thousand bruises, most likely. Added with the fact that her insides had never felt so tender.

Her pain must’ve shown on her face, because Alya just arched an eyebrow sceptically at her and didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Marinette already knew it had been a weak lie before she said it.

“I- I’m okay,” she whispered. “I’m alright. It’s not bad. Just- I just got caught in the crossfire, a little. It’s nothing.”

Alya pursed her lips. “Did Chat Noir get you out? I didn’t see him with Ladybug, so I assumed he was trying to protect civilians… Mari? Mari, oh my god, are you okay?”

Marinette didn’t say anything. She just burst into hysterical tears, sobbing and crying and grasping at her friend who couldn’t possibly understand what was happening, but was worried for her all the same. Her breath caught in her throat and there was weight in her chest and tears streamed down her face and all she could do was sit there and wail like a child.

Because he was gone.

He was _gone,_ and he was never coming back, and it was all _her_ fault.

And it broke her.

“Oh god, Marinette…” Alya murmured, pulling her in for a tight, reassuring hug. “It’s okay. It’s over. It’s okay.”

 _It’s not okay,_ was the only coherent thought going through Marinette’s mind as she sobbed hysterically into Alya’s shoulder. _It’s not okay. I’m not okay._

It was never going to be okay again.


	5. Tuesday

Much to Marinette’s distinct lack of surprise, her solo akuma battle was all anyone bothered to talk about at school the next day. She felt like she should’ve at least pretended to be paying attention, but all she could do was sit there in a total daze, staring absently at the back of Adrien’s head. It was such a familiar situation to find herself in, although now it was for completely different reasons. At least it wasn’t a terribly out of character thing to be doing. Alya didn’t even question it, dismissing her as being too busy fawning hopelessly over her crush to pay attention to anything else. Marinette preferred it that way; after her breakdown yesterday, she would do anything for Alya to stop treating her like she was made of glass, about to shatter at any second. If that meant she had to go back to playing the lovesick fool, then she would.

 _Lovesick,_ Marinette thought ruefully. She didn’t know if that was true anymore. She didn’t know who Adrien Agreste was anymore. When it came to him – the _real_ him, whether that was Adrien or Chat or something else entirely – she couldn’t even begin to tell what was a mask, and what was real.

 _If anyone is going to know what it’s like to hide behind a mask, it’s me,_ he’d told her, just a few days ago, even though it seemed like a lifetime. _It doesn’t change who you are. No matter how much you might want it to._

She stared absently at the back of his head, at his perfect golden blond hair, trying to make sense of his words. Trying to work out what exactly he’d meant. It all depended on who the mask was, didn’t it? Chat? Or Adrien? Maybe neither of them. Maybe _both_ of them.

But what was she really asking? If someone asked her which was the real mask out of Ladybug and Marinette, how would she reply? What would she say? Marinette was shy and awkward and clumsy and couldn’t string sentences together and Ladybug was cool, calm, calculated, a shining symbol of confidence and authority. They were so different. And they were both real. They were both her, no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise. Was it so impossible for it to be the same for him?

She’d never been so confused before.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Alya said, her eyes narrowing at Nino. “You’re saying no one saw Chat Noir _at all?”_

Nino shrugged. “You keep up with the reports better than me, Alya. I thought you already knew that.”

Alya pulled back, eyes wide with confusion. “I don’t know. I thought- …Marinette?” she called, gently clasping her shoulder and shaking her a little, just enough to bring her back into reality. “You saw Chat Noir yesterday, didn’t you?”

Marinette swallowed uncomfortably, never taking her eyes off Adrien’s back. He was completely still, staring at his desk, pen tapping against the wood in what she assumed was supposed to be a show of polite disinterest. But he wasn’t moving, and something about him was so stiff she could only assume he was listening intently to the conversation.

It shouldn’t have surprised her.

It _didn’t_ surprise her.

“I- I don’t know,” she stammered uselessly. “There was so much going on, but I- I didn’t see him.”

Alya sank back in her seat. “I… have to check the forums on the Ladyblog. See if anyone knows anything about this.”

“Babe, you’re blowing this _way_ out of proportion,” Nino protested. “It’s not like one of them has never been late to an akuma before.”

“He wasn’t _late,_ Nino. He was _absent._ Don’t tell me that’s not a big deal. It’s _totally_ a _massive_ deal.”

Nino shrugged. “Maybe he’s busy? Does it even matter? Ladybug handled it, no problem.”

Marinette was sure Alya retorted something back at him, but she wasn’t listening anymore, too engrossed in analysing every aspect of Adrien’s posture, watching closely as he slouched back in his seat and stared mindlessly ahead. She hated seeing him like this. She hated watching him act so quiet and depressed and knowing exactly why he felt that way while also being utterly powerless to do anything about it.

She didn’t know how to fix it. Despite all her insisting that she would put this right, one way or another, it was becoming increasingly clear to her that she had _no_ idea how to do that. He was always determined when it came to doing the right thing – how was she supposed to convince him that coming back, that putting both of them in danger was the right thing? Maybe she could point out that she was going to be in danger either way, but would he believe that? Even if he did, would it be enough to get him to come back? Or would he just tell her to find someone else, to go crawling back to Master Fu and return the ring?

She didn’t want to return the ring to Master Fu. She didn’t _want_ him to find someone else. She didn’t _care_ if it was dangerous, if it was reckless and stupid to run around with Hawk Moth’s son, to have one of the miraculouses in such close proximity to the enemy they were fighting to keep them away from. She didn’t care if it was safer. She didn’t care if it was the right thing to do.

They’d managed to go this long without any dire consequences. And if anyone could keep a secret from Hawk Moth while living under the same roof as him, it was Adrien Agreste. She knew that. She just had to make him see. Make him understand that she needed him there with her more than she needed to be protected from his father. Somehow.

A shiver went up her spine as she realised what dragging him back into the fray would probably mean. One day, probably sooner rather than later, she’d have to tell him the truth. Admit who she really was. Unmask herself in front of him just as he’d done with her and wait for judgement.

She couldn’t do anything to stop the frightened squeak that escaped her lips at the mere thought. It shouldn’t have been that frightening a thought – before, back well before any of this had ever happened, it had simply been a matter of safety. Now, that wasn’t a concern anymore. It should’ve been easy for her to make that decision, now that the only thing holding her back, her whole reason for keeping it secret in the first place, was gone.

But he was _Adrien Agreste._ She could hardly stand there in front of him and feel comfortable with who she was. She could hardly admit to being just some clumsy baker’s daughter who couldn’t even bring herself to choke out a full, grammatically correct sentence at the best of times. He wouldn’t believe it. And even if he _did,_ after everything she’d said and done to him this past week, he probably wouldn’t want to see her again.

And oh, she was so _excruciatingly_ boring and normal and entirely unremarkable, and he was amazing and brilliant and perfect and shone like the sun. He could only be disappointed upon finding out who his lady _really_ was.

His lady.

She missed hearing that. She missed him calling her that. It was an innocent, offhand nickname that she knew Marinette would never deserve. Hell, after all the fighting they’d done this past week, after all the things she’d said and done, after he’d gone and sacrificed himself and she hadn’t done anything to stop him, she wasn’t even sure _Ladybug_ deserved it anymore.

When the bell finally sounded out that day, Marinette still hadn’t reached any concrete decision. Her hands balled into tight fists as she remained rooted to her chair, even as everyone else into the classroom burst into a flurry of activity and rushed to the door, keen to get out of school and head home. By the time she was finally able to kick her brain into gear and realised just how little time she had to talk to him, Adrien was already halfway out the door.

 _Nothing_ had gotten Marinette to move faster. In seconds, she gathered her things and was bolting outside, praying to all the gods she knew of that she hadn’t already lost him in the crowd.

And then, finally, _mercifully,_ she spotted him.

“A-Adrien!” she shouted at his retreating back, sprinting to catch up with him.

At the call of his name, Adrien stopped, turning on his heels to face her, his expression quickly turning to one of polite curiosity.

“Marinette?” he asked quizzically as she skidded to a clumsy halt in front of him. “What’s going on?”

The moment she felt his eyes on her, the air exited her lungs and she was left gasping as the heat rose to her cheeks. Her heart fluttered in her chest for more reasons than she was used to and her brain scrambled frantically for something, _anything_ she could say.

It didn’t make _sense._ It was _stupid._ He was _Chat_ and she _knew_ he was and yet she still couldn’t even have a simple conversation with him.

How was it still so _hard_ just to _talk_ to him?

“I- uh, are- are you, um… okay?” she gasped between desperate breaths.

“…yeah? I’m fine. Why?”

“I just- …I thought… you, well that is, _I,_ noticed… you… upset?”

“What?”

“You’re upset!” she practically screamed at him. “I- I mean, _are you?_ You seem…”

Adrien blinked in complete and utter confusion at her mindless fumbling with words, apparently at a loss of what to say. Marinette could hardly blame him. She was being a complete idiot and there was nothing she could do about it. Her mouth just said things of its own accord, without any consideration.

And then, to her surprise, Adrien’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “Wow. Am I really that obvious?”

She laughed – a stupid, nervous giggle that probably sent the absolute wrong message. “Yes… _no!_ M-maybe? I just, uh… I sit right behind you so I notice things. N-not that I was staring! Or paying attention at all! I mean, obvious I had to be a little bit but like, not a creepy amount or whatever… argh, Marinette, just _stop talking-”_

She cut off abruptly when he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile.

And then the blood rose to her cheeks so quickly she may as well have seen the stars themselves.

“I’m okay,” he said, his voice soft and gentle, the barest of smiles pulling at the corners of his lips – just like when Chat had glanced back at her on the roof of the Agreste Estate. “Sorry if I worried you.”

“You didn’t worry me.” _You have no idea just how worried I am about you._ “I just… you know you can, uh, you can talk to me, right? About anything. If- if you need to. Not that you would _need_ to, but if you _want_ to, I can… I’m offering, that’s all.”

He smiled – that small, sad smile that was _oh so_ painfully familiar, to the point all she could see was the memory of him sliding off the roof of the Agreste estate, out of her reach. “Thanks, Marinette. But it’s, ah, it’s kind of complicated.”

 _Tell me about it,_ she thought ruefully. _You’re Chat Noir and the son of Hawk Moth, and I should be able to talk to you but I barely know what words are when you’re around._

Why was it so hard to talk to him? Why was it so hard to do this? How was it possible that he could stand there, and she could be right in front of him, knowing exactly who he was, and still get so hopelessly tongue-tied? It wasn’t fair. He had no right to do this to her. How _dare_ he have this effect on her, even when she knew the truth. How dare he stand there and act so _normal_ and not throw out a _single_ bad cat pun.

“What about you?” he asked suddenly.

Marinette blinked in surprise. “Me? I- _what?”_

Adrien reached up and brushed his cheek, nodding at Marinette’s face, at the graze she’d sustained in the fight, and the small scabs that had formed there. “You got caught up in the attack yesterday, right? Are you okay?”

 _Oh my god he’s enquiring about my health,_ she realised, her eyes growing wide and the blood draining from her face. She shifted anxiously from one foot to the other, at a loss of how to reply. She’d been so upset yesterday it hadn’t even occurred to her that she hadn’t bothered to come up with a cover story for her injuries, beyond a very vague ‘got caught in the crossfire’.

Did she even _need_ a cover story with Adrien? Why couldn’t she just tell him the truth?

She paled at the thought.

No.

No, she absolutely could not ever tell him the truth.

“I’m okay,” she told him, her voice so quiet it was barely audible. “It’s just a graze. At least I didn’t get my wrist broken by Ladybug, right? Could’ve been worse.”

_What are you saying._

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh, running his hand through his hair. “I guess it could’ve been.”

“I’m worried, though,” she started to say before she could do anything to stop herself. “I mean, Chat Noir wasn’t there, and they’re always together and… I don’t know, I feel like something really bad has happened? Because it’s not the same without him there.”

 _Marinette,_ she scolded herself. _Stop. Talking._

Adrien shrugged. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious. And in any case, Ladybug’s tough. She can handle herself.”

“You really think that?”

“Comes with the territory of being a superhero, doesn’t it?”

_Don’t be so nonchalant about it when you’re the one who abandoned me, you mangy cat._

That wasn’t exactly fair, on her part. She knew that. But she couldn’t stop the thought from crossing her mind, regardless. She knew he was probably being deliberately casual about it. She knew it was likely something of a knee-jerk reaction. Besides, he didn’t know who she was. As far as he knew, she was just a concerned classmate. Of course he’d be evasive and vague. And of course he’d think she was fine without him. It was expected.

Still. Part of her wanted to know he felt at least a _little_ guilty for leaving her to fight an akuma on her own.

“I- I suppose so,” she conceded after a pause. “I just hope Chat Noir’s okay.”

_I want you to be okay._

More than anything else, she just wanted him to be okay.

Adrien shrugged. “I’m sure he’s fine, Marinette. Don’t worry too much about it.”

With that, he went to leave, carefully manoeuvring himself around her and heading to the exit. For a moment, Marinette seriously considered letting him go. Just for a moment.

“Hey, um…”

He twisted around to face her, eyebrow arched curiously. “Yeah?”

 _I know it’s you,_ she wanted to scream at him. _I know who you are, and I know who your father is. I know because you told me. I know because I’m Ladybug._

It wouldn’t even be that hard to say. She wouldn’t even have to say more than two words if she wanted. It would be so easy. So simple.

_It’s me._

_I’m her._

“Marinette?” he called her name softly, looking kind of concerned now. Marinette took a moment to realise that it was probably because of the tears she could feel welling up in her eyes.

Anxiously, she wiped them away. “Whatever’s wrong, I- I hope it, ah, gets sorted soon.”

There it was again. That small, sad smile that he should not ever have, because he didn’t deserve to be upset. Ever. About anything.

“Thanks, Marinette,” he whispered, his voice quiet and a little shaky. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Sure! Tomorrow. Because school, and we both- …nevermind. See you later.”

He nodded at her, before turning heel and heading down the hallway again, leaving Marinette standing there, staring idly off after him, her heart hammering away at an embarrassing speed.

Why was it so much to ask to be able to speak to him without feeling like her chest was going to explode? Why was that so _utterly_ impossible?

That was it. There was nothing for it. If she was going to talk to him – _properly_ – then she had to do it as Ladybug. And she had to somehow convince him to trust her, and to not immediately bolt at the sight of her out of sheer _fear_ of being seen having any kind of connection to her.

She had to tell him. She had to tell him _everything._

Was she _ready_ to tell him, though?

Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a sharp exhale at the thought. Was keeping her identity secret really worth losing her partner?

This was always going to happen. Part of her had known that. Eventually, they wouldn’t be able to escape it. Maybe this wasn’t exactly how she thought it would go, but it was her situation now and she had to deal with it. That wasn’t up for debate.

Steeling herself for what she knew was probably going to be an emotionally traumatising afternoon, she spun around and bolted to the toilets.

The moment the door shut behind her, Marinette clawed open her bag, rousing the kwami within.

“Tikki,” she called. _“Tikki.”_

“Mm? Marinette? What is it?”

“No time to explain. Going to tell Adrien the truth. Not going to argue,” she replied in a rapid fire. “Spots on.”

The moment the resulting wave of pink light faded away, Marinette burst back out into the school courtyard, throwing her yo-yo and pulling herself up onto the roof. For a tense moment, she stood there, her eyes glancing over the horizon and trying to get her bearings. The Agreste estate wasn’t terribly far from the school, but she knew she didn’t want to get there before Adrien himself got home.

So, she just hopped from foot to the other, anxious to leave but also trying to waste time. How long did it take to drive from the school to his house, anyway? Five minutes? Ten? How long did she have to wait for him to settle in his room after getting home?

There was a reason she hated waited for things. This was _agony._

What did she even plan to say? _I’m sorry, I miss you, I need you back?_ Why did that sound like she was trying to get back together with him after a nasty break up?

…probably because that was kind of exactly what had happened, even if hadn’t been in a romantic context.

That thought left a sour taste in her mouth. She didn’t want to think about it like that.

She couldn’t stand it anymore. She needed to get there. She needed to be doing something, and if that was aimlessly zipping her way from building to building through the streets of Paris, then damn it, that was what she’d do. At least it was _something._ At least it wasn’t doing an agitated dance atop the school as the minutes snailed by.

She was ready for this.

She _wanted_ to do this.

She wanted him to know.

It wasn’t even a question anymore. Not really. She’d tell him the truth and she would deal with his reaction, whatever it turned out to be.

She landed on the small terrace above her bedroom a little clumsily, rushing to undo the latch and sliding down the stairs, leaping over to her desk and all but ripping the drawer out, dumping it contents on the floor and rummaging through them until she found what she needed. Clutching the small locked box where she kept Adrien’s ring to her chest, she rushed back up to the terrace and threw herself into the air.

She would fix this. She would make it all fine again and he’d take back the ring and everything would be okay, finally. The nightmare would finally be over, and this week – this horrible, terrible week that had systematically destroyed everything she cared about – would finally end. She wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. Everything would be like it was.

And if Adrien was disappointed she was the one behind Ladybug’s mask, then so be it.

His window was open.

Was it always open?

She elected not to think about it too much as she swung herself over to it. She knew an opportunity when she saw one.

Adrien was so engrossed in whatever he was doing – reading something, she thought – that he didn’t notice her land almost silently on his windowsill. For a moment, Marinette just watched him, taking everything about him in and wondering if she truly did have the mental and emotional fortitude to survive this. She knew it was insane. It was insane and stupid and reckless, but she needed to do it. She _needed_ it. She needed _him._

“I know you’re trying to protect me,” she called as she jumped down from carefully balancing on his window, landing on his bedroom floor with grace and ease. “And I’ve decided it’s stupid.”

At the sound of her voice, Adrien whirled around, eyes wide with terror.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed, frantically trying to urge her back to the open window. “You shouldn’t- you _can’t-”_

“I trust you more than I fear Hawk Moth,” she cut across him sharply. “And I need my partner more than I want the security of a secret identity.”

“Ladybug…”

“Spots off.”

She saw Adrien’s eyes snap shut the instant a wash of pink light came over her, so fast it almost seemed more like an automatic reflex than anything else. How many times had he done that? How many times had he almost caught her transforming back? How many times had he stopped himself from peeking, despite the fact that he’d always wanted to know who she really was? In that moment, she couldn’t help but be impressed. Looking back, she wasn’t sure if she would’ve been able to have that much self-restraint in his situation.

“Open your eyes,” she urged him quietly.

He shook his head fervently. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Adrien. Look at me. _Please.”_

There was an agonisingly long pause before Adrien finally seemed to give up fighting her, and opened his eyes.

Marinette held out a hand, trying her best to ignore how she was clearly trembling.

“Hi,” she greeted him, offering her hand as her heart thumped relentlessly in her chest. “I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Adrien’s eyes widened slightly – so slightly she almost didn’t notice.

And then, finally, he reached out and grasped her hand, giving her his own small, shaky smile that was neither one of Chat Noir’s cheshire grins, nor one of Adrien Agreste’s classic model smirks. And for the first time since she’d met him, either versions of him, Marinette felt like she knew him. Or was starting to, at least.

“Adrien Agreste,” he responded slowly. “I think we’ve met before.”


	6. Tuesday Night

Adrien Agreste stared idly down at the small locked box in his hands, leaning away from it slightly, like he was frightened of it. For much too long, Marinette just watched him silence, hoping, wishing, praying to all the gods she knew of that he’d eventually come around on this. She was prepared to sit there for days on end if she had to. There was very little – if _anything_ – that she wouldn’t do, at this point.

They’d sat there, on that roof, without saying much at all for hours now. Marinette would’ve been fine staying and doing this in his bedroom, but Adrien had insisted they move somewhere else, somewhere far away from his father, negating any chance of being overheard and compromising themselves. Something in him was still so afraid of the potential consequences, and truthfully, Marinette couldn’t bring herself to blame him. She knew he was being careful. It was the smart thing to do, in his position. Just like giving up his miraculous and trying his best to distance himself from her had been the smart thing to do, despite how much pain it had caused him to do it.

And here she’d thought he couldn’t be objective.

She didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to say. Yes, she’d told him the truth and now he knew as much as she did, but he still hadn’t taken back the ring. And if even if he _did,_ their problems were still far from fixed.

It just never ended. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, it would never be over.

She just wanted it to be _over,_ already.

“Are…” she began awkwardly as she glanced over him; from the rigidly stiff way he held himself, to the agonised expression on his face, to his whitening knuckles as he gripped the box in his hands, “…are you okay?”

Stupid question. Of course he wasn’t. How could he be?

Adrien shivered, but squared his shoulders and tried not to draw any attention to it. “Yeah. Fine.”

Marinette sighed heavily and turned herself away, opting to instead gaze at the sprawling city lights below them, stretching all the way out to the horizon. There had been times where she’d taken it for granted – the city, its people, the privilege of being the one chosen to protect it. She wasn’t going to let that happen again.

Beside her, Adrien groaned and looked up at the sky. “No, I’m not. I don’t _know_ anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say.

He looked back at her, eyebrow arched in confusion. “About what?”

She didn’t meet his eye. In that moment, she couldn’t. “Well… everything.”

 _For your father,_ she added silently. _For pressuring you. For accusing you to your face._ _For outing you. For just making everything worse when you were already scared._

She should have known. She should’ve realised. She should’ve done something. She shouldn’t have let it all slide like it was nothing. She shouldn’t have let this happen. She shouldn’t have let it go this far, and get this out of hand.

Adrien kept his head down, apparently just as eager to avoid looking at her as she wanted to avoid looking at him.

“It’s not _your_ fault,” he said, his voice soft and gentle, but unable to mask the underlying pain that seemed to permeate everything about him.

Marinette wasn’t sure if she believed that. Wasn’t sure if she deserved that. He had such an unshakable faith in her, in _everyone_ all the time, and she knew that she’d done absolutely nothing to deserve it. He was so perfect and so pure and so _good,_ it was insane to think that he was the son of a _supervillain._ Marinette couldn’t get over that fact. Adrien was Hawk Moth’s son and nothing had seemed more absurd to her in her life. Because if Gabriel could raise someone like Adrien, then…

Then he probably wasn’t the irredeemable monster of pure evil she’d written him off as. Then it wasn’t as black and white as she wanted it to be, as she _wished_ it was. Because it was easier to fight something with no good qualities to speak of. It was easier to hate him, hate what he did, hate everything about him when he was nothing more than a faceless evil looming threateningly over her city.

It didn’t excuse him. It didn’t excuse what he did. But it sure did make everything a hell of a lot more complicated.

“Do you think… will you do it?” she asked somewhat jerkily, desperate to change the subject. “Will you come back?”

For so long, Adrien didn’t respond, he just stared at the box that contained his miraculous, looking more lost and confused than ever before.

“I… don’t know,” he whispered hoarsely. “I mean, I want to. More than anything, but it- it’s not safe, is it? I’ll be risking so much for the both of us and it just seems… selfish.”

 _I don’t care about safe,_ Marinette wanted to say. _I don’t care if it’s selfish. I care about you._

“I trust you,” she insisted quietly.

“That’s not the point,” he argued.

“Adrien,” she called his name, perhaps a little more sharply than she intended. “I _trust_ you. I trusted you when I didn’t know who you were. I trusted you when you were actively fighting against me, for whatever reason. I trusted you when you told me Gabriel was Hawk Moth. And I _still_ trust you now, knowing he’s your father. That was always the situation. _Nothing_ about that has changed. The only thing that _has_ is your perspective.”

“Most people would use that change in perspective to fix their mistakes,” he pointed out.

“Being Chat Noir is _not_ a mistake on your part, Adrien Agreste.”

“How do you know?”

It took all her self-control not to roll her eyes. “I’ve _met_ you.”

That was all she had to do to know that he was just too damn heroic for it to be a mistake.

He didn’t seem to have anything to say to that. Marinette didn’t know if that was because he was genuinely considering her point, or if he just didn’t want to argue with her. It could very well have been either.

“Adrien, please,” she said, forcing herself to look unwaveringly at his face. “I can’t do this without you.”

 _“Yes,_ you _can,”_ he contradicted quietly. “You can handle yourself just fine without me. You always have.”

“Okay,” Marinette sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Okay, fine. I can. You’re completely right, I can do it all on my own, and it’s better if you stay far away. I don’t need you, I don’t need Chat Noir, I don’t need _anyone_ to do what needs to be done. I will take down Hawk Moth and stop all of this on my own, without your help. Is that what you want to hear?”

He didn’t reply. At this point, she didn’t know why she expected anything else.

“Ignoring the fact that _none_ of that is true,” she continued shakily, “we’re supposed to be partners. Partners don’t bail on each other when the going gets tough. I _can’t_ do this without you.”

“Marinette-”

“Adrien,” she cut across his protest sharply. “I don’t _want_ to do this without you.”

That was all she could say.

Because that’s what it came down to in the end. She didn’t want to do this alone. She didn’t want him to sit idly by, watching from the sidelines. She wanted him there with her. She wanted someone she could trust, with everything. Someone who wasn’t there as a guiding authority figure, like Tikki or Master Fu. She wanted someone there who knew what it was like. Who knew what she was going through. Someone with whom she had a mutual understanding.

She didn’t _need_ him back, not really. But she did _want_ him back. And that was just as important, in its own way.

“Listen to me,” she found herself practically begging him. “We can stop this. We can stop _all_ of this. We can stop Hawk Moth and save Paris, together. Like we’re supposed to.”

“And _then_ what?” he asked, his voice low and a little scathing. “We stop my father and take back his miraculous and then… _what?_ We put him behind bars?”

Marinette chewed her lip anxiously at his question. “Look, I know he’s your father, but-”

 _“But,_ he’s a monster and a horrible person, right?” he finished for her icily. “Completely beyond any hope of redemption. I mean, why don’t we just kill him and be done with it?”

She pulled back, unable to keep from feeling hurt as he threw her own words back in her face like that. Marinette bit her lip anxiously, desperately trying to think of something, _anything_ she could say to fix this. Or start to. Or _something._ But really, there wasn’t anything she _could_ say. Adrien’s relationship with his father was complicated, sure, complicated in a way she knew she’d never fully understand. But there was some strange attachment there, something he couldn’t seem to let go of, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how heinous his father’s crimes. And really, if it had been _her_ father, would she be any different?

She couldn’t even begin to imagine what he was feeling.

It wasn’t fair.

 _None_ of this was fair.

“He didn’t used to be like this,” he mumbled shakily, pulling his knees to his chest. “He used to apologise when he worked late, or when he missed things. He’d feel bad about it. He used to care.”

“People change,” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure how exactly she expected that to make him feel at all better. If she was being honest, she had no idea what she was doing. She had, naively, thought that everything would just fall into place, that all their problems would magically solve themselves upon finding out who each other were. But reality, as it turned out, was never so kind.

Gabriel Agreste was Hawk Moth. There couldn’t be any doubt now. Gabriel Agreste was Hawk Moth, he was cruel and cunning, he manipulated, abused, and controlled innocent people to achieve his own ends and Adrien couldn’t help but love him, despite it all. Couldn’t help but try to see nothing but the good in him. The good in him that Marinette wasn’t sure truly existed, even though she could see how Adrien clearly needed it to.

 _He doesn’t deserve this,_ she thought sadly. _He doesn’t deserve any of this. He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t have to make this decision._

“I can’t do this,” he whispered, his voice low and hoarse. “I can’t fight him.”

_“Adrien…”_

“He’s all I have left,” he murmured. “I don’t- … _I can’t…_ I’m just- I’m so _tired_ of losing people.”

He sounded so lost and so scared and _so_ confused when he said that. Strangely, he sounded _young._

He _was_ young. They were _both_ young. They were just a couple of teenagers running around with magic powers, trying to do what they could to keep the world from falling apart around them.

“So, what?” Marinette asked, unable to keep the distinct edge out of her voice. “You want to just let him run around akumatising people?”

“No, I- …I don’t know, okay?” he all but shouted, raking a hand through his hair and trying his best to hide the tears that were welling up in his eyes. “I _don’t know.”_

She’d never heard him so upset before. Never seen him be so open and raw with his emotions before. Maybe that was because now he wasn’t trying to hide anything. He wasn’t pretending to be detached from the situation anymore. He didn’t have to pretend he wasn’t caught between two sides anymore. It was all out in the open and he could be who he was and feel what he was feeling without fear of someone finding something out that he couldn’t take back.

And she had never seen him so upset.

“I don’t know either,” she whispered, still staring mindlessly out at the sprawling cityscape before them. “But it wasn’t going to just be stopping akumas forever. We both knew that.”

Adrien didn’t look at her. “Maybe _you_ did.”

“Oh, come _on._ There’s no way you didn’t realise we’d eventually have to face off against Hawk Moth himself.”

He looked away. “It… honestly didn’t occur to me.”

“Not even during the Collector incident?” she asked, arching an eyebrow curiously.

He let out a shout of bitter laughter. “Not even then. I guess I had a lot on my mind… ugh, why didn’t I see it sooner? I’m such an _idiot.”_

Unable to stand hearing him berate himself, Marinette reached out and gently grasped his hand, in some effort to show solidarity with him.

“It’s not your fault,” she insisted quietly. _“Neither_ of us saw it. And at least you saw past it eventually. You worked out the truth on your own. You could’ve refused to believe it. You could’ve gone into denial over the whole thing and no one would’ve blamed you. But you didn’t. You recognised the truth and you told me about it because you thought I needed to know. That takes _strength,_ Adrien. That takes more strength than you realise.”

And then he stood there and stayed quiet even as she yelled and screamed and accused him of something terrible because he knew how important keeping their identities secret was to her.

A shiver went up her spine at the memory, a memory that was now tinged with sadness and regret every time it came up, because now she had the context. Now she knew _exactly_ why he’d acted that way, why he’d said the things he’d said. She remembered him pulling back as she screamed about Hawk Moth being a monster, and now she understood why.

She glanced over him one more time, biting her lip as she thought about it, about him, about what the past week must’ve been like for him.

_You’re the strongest person I know._

“Part of me isn’t even surprised. He hasn’t really been the same since…” Adrien began, only to awkwardly trail off into silence.

Silently, Marinette shifted closer to him, in what she insisted to herself was supposed to be a show of solidarity and not… _whatever_ the obsessively crushing teenage girl part of her brain was calling it.

“Since…?” she prompted quietly.

He didn’t look at her. “My mother, I guess.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. He’d barely spoken about his mother in all the time she’d known him – under either identity. The only time she could remember he even _mentioned_ her was when she was standing next to him in his bedroom, staring at his desktop background picture. And she’d been so flushed with embarrassment then that she hadn’t asked for any details.

It all seemed so long ago.

“Your mother?” she asked. “What happened to her?”

Adrien shifted, still not looking at her. “I don’t know. No one knows. She just- she disappeared. I woke up one morning and she wasn’t there. It was almost like she’d _never_ been there.”

Marinette hummed thoughtfully, doing her best to conceal just how much her heart broke for him. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with already.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair on him.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have to do this.

“When was this?” she asked carefully, blinking away her tears.

“Last year.”

 _Last year._ Recent, then. Recent enough, but well before Hawk Moth showed up, and well before either of them were mysteriously gifted with their miraculouses in order to fight him.

The blood drained from her face at the thought. “Oh… no. Oh _no.”_

Beside her, Adrien stiffened. “Marinette? What?”

“Your father’s Hawk Moth.”

His eyes narrowed. “A fact I am _painfully_ aware of, yes.”

“No, Adrien, I mean, your _father_ is _Hawk Moth,”_ she said, her hands balling up into tight fists. _“Hawk Moth,_ who has been around for about as long as Ladybug and Chat Noir have. Don’t you find it _odd_ that your _mother_ goes _missing_ and then your _father,_ a world-famous fashion designer with apparently everything anyone could ever want, goes on an akumatising spree trying to get our miraculouses – which grant insane, reality warping powers when put together?”

There was a moment where Adrien just stared at her, utterly confused, before she finally saw a flash of understanding cross his face, and he immediately paled.

“You’re not saying…” he began shakily. _“A-are_ you? He could- _she could…_ is that even _possible?”_

 _“Adrien,”_ she called his name softly. “Even if it _is_ possible, it’s too dangerous. I was told that no matter the intent, using the miraculouses like that will cause just as much harm as good. Even if you have the best intentions, it might end up destroying the world anyway. To keep balance.”

Slowly, he nodded. “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

Marinette blinked. “Uh… what?”

“Newton’s third law of motion,” he clarified.

She just stared blankly at him, until he let out an exasperated sigh.

“It’s physics,” he said. “Sorry, it just sounded- forget it.”

“Uh huh,” she mumbled, suddenly wishing she’d paid more attention in science class. “B-but my point is, we can’t let anyone use the miraculouses like that. For _any_ reason, Adrien. I’m sorry, but… you have to let her go. For the greater good.”

_For the greater good._

She hated that phrase, she decided. She hated it so much. She shouldn’t be asking this of him. Did she have any _right_ to ask this of him? To give up what little he had left, to condemn his own father, and let go of any chance of getting his mother back? What if it had been someone _she_ cared about? Wouldn’t she go just as far, doing whatever she could, to save them?

If that was the case, if it was all to save someone who was already gone, then…

Then Gabriel Agreste wasn’t a monster. He was _human._ He was so, so _excruciatingly_ human. And it was likely that very humanity that drove him to do this.

Because what was the world, compared to someone he loved? Someone he lost?

Adrien shivered at her words, and let out a shaky exhale. “Yeah. I get it.”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“W-what?”

“If bringing her back means doing this to innocent people, then I don’t _want_ her back,” he murmured, never looking at her even once as he spoke. “And if she knew what he was doing, she wouldn’t want to _come_ back.”

Marinette exhaled softly and shifted closer to him, until their shoulders were pressing against each other. Gingerly, she reached out, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close, all the while ignoring both his startled gasp and her own heart thumping in her chest. She was hugging Adrien Agreste and for once, it felt so natural.

“You’re a good person, Adrien Agreste,” she murmured.

_You’re a better person than anyone gives you credit for._

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Adrien said, pulling away from her slightly, like he was uncomfortable. “That might not even be it. You’re just spit-balling.”

“You have to admit; the idea has credence.”

“I _really_ don’t want to think about it.”

Marinette let out a long, exhausted sigh and rolled her shoulders back, before gesturing at the box in his hands. “Will you at least think about _that?”_

At her words, Adrien glanced down at it too, a thousand emotions flickering across his expression so quickly she could barely register them. There was some sort of longing in his face, a desperation to accept it, to go back to the way everything used to be, but it was all twisted up with fear.

“It’s not going to be the same,” he pointed out quietly. “You know that, right? It’s going to be awkward and _weird_ and we’re not going to be able to talk to each other like before.”

“We’re talking to each other _now.”_

“And it’s _not the same,”_ he insisted. “I know I’m not what you expected…”

He trailed off into a tense, awkward silence, raking his hand through his hair and breathing hard, as if he was desperately to collect himself and utterly failing.

Marinette simply stared in confusion. “What I expected?” she repeated absently, having absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

“As Chat Noir,” he mumbled, looking away in some vain effort to hide the flush of red colouring his cheeks. “I saw your face when you realised who I was. You were _horrified.”_

Marinette opened her mouth to say something, to protest, but immediately closed it again. He had a point, she realised. She _had_ been horrified to discover who he was. She hadn’t wanted to know. But that had been _days_ ago now. There had been time for the dust to settle, for her to calm down and adjust to the new reality of knowing his identity.

“That wasn’t because of who you are,” she told him flatly. “I was _horrified_ because I realised just what I’d been _saying_ to you. Besides, Chat Noir turning out to be _anyone_ I know personally was going to be weird. I pretty much had him figured for some boy I didn’t know who lived on the other side of Paris.”

He laughed at that, but it was breathless, awkward, and insecure. “Sorry I disappointed you.”

“What?” she asked, dumbfounded by his apology. _“Disappointed?_ Are you _serious?_ How could you _possibly_ disappoint me? _You’re_ the one who should be disappointed! I mean, look at you! Who could possibly be disappointed by _you?_ But _me?_ Ugh, I’m so _stupid._ I’m stupid and clumsy and useless and weak and I can’t string sentences together and I’m just so, _so stupid-”_

“Marinette.”

“I said all those things right to your face without realising and I’m an _idiot-”_

“Marinette,” he called her name softly, reaching out and grabbing her hand. _“Stop.”_

The instant she felt his hand on hers, Marinette fell silent, gazing at him as a storm of a million different emotions raged around her brain.

And then;

“I’m glad it’s you.”

A small, shaky smile pulled at the corners of her lips and Marinette quickly looked away, desperate to hide just how much she was blushing.

Glad.

He knew who she was, the lame, awkward, clumsy person under the mask, and he was _glad._

That couldn’t possibly be right.

“Me too,” she breathed. “Uh… I mean, I’m glad it’s _you._ Too. Also. As well. I’m not glad it’s me. Or maybe I am glad it’s me? But I’m _more_ glad about _you._ Adrien Agreste. Being Chat Noir. Because you’re Chat Noir. You’ve always been Chat Noir. And I’ve always been Ladybug, and we didn’t know, but _now_ we do and we can talk or whatever- …but we don’t _have_ to do that. I mean, if you don’t want to. Because sure, _I’d_ like to, but I don’t want to pressure you, because that would be _bad_ and I don’t want to freak you out any more than you already are. You know. Because Hawk Moth is your father and that’s bad. But! We’ll fix it, right? Yeah. Totally. Ha. Ha ha… _ha…_ oh my god, I’m rambling and I can’t stop, someone kill me.”

He laughed. “At least _that_ hasn’t changed.”

“What?”

“You’re still so cute when you’re flustered.”

Marinette blinked. Once. Twice.

She’d heard that before.

He’d said that to her before.

The blood drained from her face as she remembered that particular conversation for the first time in days. The conversation she’d had with Chat and he’d prodded her into talking about her crush.

Her _crush,_ who was _Adrien._

 _Adrien,_ who was _Chat Noir._

 _Chat Noir,_ who was _Adrien,_ who _knew who she was_ and who she had a crush on and was _sitting right next to her._

“Oh my god,” she murmured, as the realisation dawned on her, paling faster than anyone thought possible as a tidal wave of humiliation crashed over her. “Oh… my god. Oh _no._ No, no, _no…”_

Beside her, Adrien stiffened, anxiously scanning the horizon, probably for the signs of an akuma attack he thought she’d noticed. “What? Marinette?”

“I told you,” she whispered, her voice low and hoarse.

He gave a small, shaky laugh. “Y-yeah… we’ve been at this so long, it’s sort of crazy to think we don’t have to hide who we are anymore.”

Fervently, she shook her head. “No, not that. I mean, _yes,_ that, but…”

“Marinette? You okay?”

“I told you I liked you,” she managed to gasp out in a strangled voice. “I told you that I liked you, _to your face.”_

He burst out laughing at that, and Marinette didn’t know if she was relieved to hear him laugh again or painfully embarrassed to know he was laughing at _her._ She sat there, fidgeting nervously, completely torn between bursting into tears and punching him in the face.

“Oh- oh yeah,” Adrien managed after the laughter subsided a bit. “Right. You did do that, didn’t you? I completely forgot.”

“You _forgot?”_ she repeated incredulously, unsure of what she was hearing. She’d poured out her heart and soul to him, and he’d _forgotten_ about it? As in, he hadn’t remembered? As in, if she’d kept quiet, if she’d kept her big mouth _shut,_ she wouldn’t be dealing with how utterly _mortified_ she was right now?

Oh, that was _not fair._

The world really did like to mess with her, didn’t it? She liked Adrien, who was Chat Noir, who liked Ladybug, who was her, and now _this?_

He held up his hands a little defensively. “It’s been a weird week for me, okay?”

She sighed and looked away. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just kind of… absolutely hating myself for bringing it up, now.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “We should… ah, we should probably talk about that. Sometime.”

She nodded slowly. “I guess now is kind of awkward.”

“I’m not sure that conversation will ever _not_ be awkward,” he mused lightly.

That was a fair assessment, she supposed. And it was probably wise to do a raincheck on that conversation. Things were bad enough already with everything else that had happened. Not to mention, the logistics of it all. It was one more mess to deal with, one more mess to add to the pile of messes she may as well be drowning in. Not to mention, it was absolutely not something she could think about right now, if she wanted to survive the night without melting into a puddle of embarrassment.

The boy she liked appeared to like her back.

Everything about this situation was just so _alien_ to her.

“So, what are we supposed to do?” Adrien asked suddenly, bringing her out of her thoughts and back into reality, not that _reality_ much felt like it anymore. “About Hawk Moth and the akumas, I mean.”

Almost immediately, Marinette twisted around to face him, her eyes wide.

 _“We?”_ she repeated, shocked.

The corners of Adrien’s lips twitched.

“We,” he confirmed quietly, never quite meeting her eyes. “I mean, if that’s okay. If you want me back.”

“How is that even up for debate?” she asked him. _“Of course_ I want you back.”

They fell into a silence as Adrien smiled despite himself and Marinette realised with a dawning horror what she’d just said to him.

“As a partner!” she all but screamed, quickly facing away from him so he wouldn’t see her flush a bright scarlet. “As the totally platonic second half of a crime-fighting duo. And all that. Until when and if decided otherwise.”

God, why did he make her so _awkward?_

He just shrugged innocently, apparently taking no notice of her flustered scrambling. “I don’t know… I wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”

Marinette snorted. “Right. Yeah. Like _you_ could ever cramp _my_ style.”

“I _am_ pretty fashion-forward, it’s true.”

She blinked in surprise, not quite sure how to take the quip before realising what had just been said and letting out a shout of laughter.

_Yeah. He’s definitely still Chat._

“Ha,” she breathed, absently pinching herself as she was so sure this was a dream and expected to wake up any second now. “Style. _Fashion-forward._ Because you’re a model?”

The grin, that good old cheshire grin that undeniably belonged to Chat Noir and no one else, was back now, etching itself onto his perfect lips. “Because I’m a model.”

“You’re terrible.”

“I’m _hilarious.”_

“You’re making jokes to distract from the problem again.”

He exhaled softly. “I have to. Something tells me I’m going to fall apart if I don’t.”

Absently, Marinette found herself snuggling against him once again. There wasn’t really anything else she could do. Something about it seemed so natural.

“You are enough,” she murmured. “I promise you _are_ enough. I _promise_ you.”

Beside her, Adrien’s lips twitched with a small smile. “Thanks, Marinette.”

They lapsed into a somewhat awkward silence as Marinette shifted away from him slightly, trying to hide how she was blushing furiously while Adrien didn’t appear to notice, too engrossed in once again staring idly at the box in his hands, before letting out a tired, defeated groan.

“Plagg is going to chew me out the second I open this, I just _know_ it.”

She blinked a few times, utterly confused. “Plagg… your kwami?”

“That’s him,” Adrien replied in as cheerful tone as he could manage.

“What’s he like?”

“Wait until I’ve got a sufficiently huge pile of apology camembert ready and I’ll introduce you.”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed. “Uh… _camembert?_ As in the cheese? _Why-?”_

Adrien shook his head, quickly cutting her off. “Don’t ask.”

“But I have so many questions!”

“Marinette, please. Do. Not. _Ask.”_

She laughed. “Alright, fine. When you’ve got a sufficiently huge pile of apology camembert, do you want to run around and be superheroes together?”

He grinned again – that oh so familiar grin that could only belong to Chat Noir.

“Try and stop me, Princess.”

**Author's Note:**

> THE END.
> 
> Oh thank god it's over. I'd apologise to all the people I managed to upset with this story, but that would imply that I'm in any way sorry about it. I am a monster with a strong penchant for angst and there is no power on earth that can stop me.
> 
> No one let me write for this fandom ever again.


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